Healer's Inheritance
by Laurnarose
Summary: For my love of the Deryni world by Katherine Kurtz, I offer a sequel to my first story Coins of Memory. Washburn and Jessamyn are newly married and enjoying the happiness of their first Yule-tide together. Mindful of the balance of his responsibilities to family and to his people, Washburn would see Jessa returned to her noble birthright and have her stand confidently at his side.
1. Chapter 1

**_Healer's Inheritance_ **

**Chapter 1- The Archery Lesson**

985, December 23  
Cynfyn* Castle  
Earldom of Lendour, in the Kingdom of Gwynedd  
Three weeks have passed since the marriage of Sir Washburn and Lady Jessamyn.

"Draw... Further... Rest your thumb near your ear... Sight your target…," the Knight Captain of Lendour spoke with calm anticipation, standing close to his fair wife. So close that his exhalation blew the gauze veil against the soft skin of her neck.

Jessamyn squeezed her eyes shut, demanding that her senses not respond to his closeness. This was hard enough for her to do without his distractions. Her left arm was steady in her hold of the short bow, but her right arm strained at the tension of the bowstring near her cheek. The arrow nocked in the boned groove of the cord between first and second fingers betrayed the slight quiver she could not control. She sighted down the arrow; she needed to hit the target at least once today. To not disappoint him, she needed to put an arrow somewhere in the vicinity of the bull's-eye thirty paces before her.

"That's much better. Now you understand the proper stance. See how the angle of your pull comes much easier; better position to aim, wouldn't you agree?" The Knight Captain's tone was attentive. He stood so very close, yet not touching. Only his breath, once more, brushed against her veil.

Was he doing this on purpose? Teasing her in this way? Surely not. This was her third day of archery lessons; certainly, he would not intentionally be the cause of her failure. The mere touch of his fingers lifting her elbow to a proper height settled the shake of her hand, yet it sent a shiver of intimacy down her spine. She dampened the sensation, trying to concentrate on her aim.

"I don't expect you to hold forever," he chided. She felt him smile behind her. "Just do as you did before; mark your target, sight down the arrow, aim a little higher. Right there. Now… loose!" At his word, she released the bowstring. She felt the error the moment the tension sprang forward. The cord twanged a frightening sound. Her fingers had cramped, disrupting its smooth release. The wrongness vibrated through the bow, resulting in the arrow wobbling in its flight. In a blink of the eye, the arrow flew across the snow-covered practice grounds toward the straw butt and the painted canvas target tied to it. The arrow skimmed the outer rim, glancing right, and sank into the dirt mound piled against the castle wall. This was the pages' practice area; the boundaries of the yard were well protected from wayward arrows. Not for the first time was Jessa glad for the precautions. She imagined some poor bystander with a lethal injury caused from her horrendous ability to aim. Once again she considered what it would take to heal such a wound; assuming, she prayed, that the incident would not be immediately lethal.

The newly wedded lady sighed at her failure. "I'm not cut out for this, my lord. I am no archer."

Sir Washburn did not laugh as she thought he might. She thought perhaps that he would finally lose his patience with her. She had to be the worst student he had ever taught. His closeness was of no help either. Immodest thoughts of the last few nights caused a ruby flush of color to cross over her cheeks. Remembering where she stood and the audience that watched from behind, the newly made bride quelled her emotions. Best not to give the garrulous onlookers any more insight to her desires; her poor ability at archery was enough from them to gossip about.

During these last few days of clear skies and winter sun, the otherwise bored members of the Cynfyn Castle had stepped out of doors to stand at the practice yard galleries and watch the training of the pages and squires. Having joined the other women in the galleries, Jessa became aware of a different kind of contest than those that sparred on the field. It seemed a favorite pastime was to gather gossip and pass it along; the most intriguing gossip would earn status within the group. She did not play this game herself; she was not accustomed to this sport. Not partaking in the game, however, did not preclude her from being in the center of it. It seemed her name was the toast of every conversation heard in whispers. If only, she wished, the tale-tellers would play her in a better light. They seemed to study the newlyweds for any indiscretion that could serve as a good tale to pass along to the rest of the castle residents.

Truthfully, Jessa did not find their words harsh, only too often emphasizing her innocence and her youth. Just once, she wished they'd portray her in a more accomplished light. The thing she did best was held in secret and had yet to be learned by those she was trying to befriend. If only she could do this one simple thing that her husband was enthusiastically trying to teach her. Here was a part of him that she wanted to share. She wanted him to be proud of her. She wanted the whisperers to say something promising. Yet, all she achieved was sideways smiles when anyone mentioned her attempts. The comments that followed when they thought her out of hearing seemed to suggest this lady or that lady would have made the Knight Captain a far better wife. Certainly Lady Evelyn, Lady Trisha, or Lady May would have been better at archery than she; she seemed nothing but a silly former novice when compared to the available women of Lendour. Jessa held no doubt that there were several of them who thought themselves better suited to be the Knight Captain's wife than she.

"We can do better." Washburn was saying. "You have a steady left hand. You just need to make the right hand release smoother." He pantomimed the motion of his two fingers releasing an invisible bowstring. "One quick fluid motion, move your fingers as one." As he lowered his arms, he gave a half-cocked smile assuring her she could do this. Did he have to look so smugly handsome? She nearly forgot where she was until she realized he was handing her another arrow. "Let's try that again and see how easily it can be done." His patience was supreme. He was genuinely trying to help her learn this skill.

Putting all misguided thoughts aside, Jessa concentrated on properly nocking the arrow to the bowstring. She balanced the arrow on the upper part of her left hand and pulled back until the string was taut at her ear. This bow had the same tension as that of a young page's bow. Its draw weight was light. Wash had told her he was more interested in teaching her to stand properly and draw back correctly, allowing her enough time to hold the arrow in place while she took her mark. He had assured her that as soon as she was comfortable with the basics, he would give her a proper bow that women of nobility use, one with thirty-five pounds of draw weight. One that could take down an enemy if the need arose. The thought was quite against her upbringing, but Jessa was not so naive as to think she would never need to defend her home or her life. It was time she learned how to do this; do it right. The young woman strengthened her focus, tuning out the world around her. All that existed was the arrow held tensely in the bow and the painted yellow center of canvas stretched over the butt.

"Steady your hand, mark your target, both fingers… as one… loose." At her side, Wash's voice was vibrant, she moved as he bid her to. The arrow flew across the open grounds and twanged in the outer black band of the target. Washburn's lips kissed the back of her hand as reward. "Very good. You're getting the feel of it now. Let's do that again, only faster this time. Less thought, just do: Nock... Mark as you draw… Loose… Guide, if you're able." He handed her another arrow. She looked at him quizzically. What was the last part he just said? He said nothing more, only smiled knowingly.

She set the arrow, drew back, aimed… and… released. It flew the straightest she had yet managed. Wash's hand touched her shoulder. In that instant, she sensed his energies entwine with the momentum of the arrow. The tiniest of a Push and the arrow shifted. It slammed into the yellow center of the bull's-eye.

Applause came from the audience who stood behind the barriers.

"How did…?" Jessa was asking, when she heard his "Shhh…!" in her ear.

He handed her another arrow as he said very quietly. "Perhaps you should pay more attention this time." His thoughts brushed her shields and she allowed the tenderness of his consciousness to mingle within her mind. His presence steadied her hand as she fit the nock, marked her target, and drew. As one, their minds wrapped around the arrow. His mental touch reassured her aim and improved the smoothness of her fingers releasing the bowstring. Husband and wife sensed the arrow's speed and its direction. In the briefest moment with the slightest nudge, the arrowhead became imbedded within the center of the yellow circle. Jessa dared not say a word, though her lips parted in an appreciative smile. "Show that to me again," she finally whispered. "I think I can do that." This discovery was a wondrous insight. Here was a Deryni ability she had never considered before. Perhaps there was more to archery than she had originally thought.

"Very well." Wash nodded for the squire to hand her another arrow. "Once again," said the knight captain.

With her concentration focused on this new magic, Jessa discovered that all the drilling to properly hold the bow had sunk in. It took far less effort to pull and aim than she had done before. As she sighted down the arrow, Wash touched her arm to raise it the tiniest of amounts. She closed her eyes, focusing to a shallow trance, trusting in her husband's physical and mental touch. She released the bowstring, sensed the arrow's velocity; it traveled slightly off. Following his Guidance, she brushed the field-tip with her mind and it thudded home. An applause came from far behind in the gallery of onlookers. Jessa opened her eyes to see the arrow very near the center. She smiled with new found joy.

"I think it best if we let your arm rest. The countess will scold me for abuse if you get injured." Washburn laughed at the sudden look of disappointment in her eyes. "Perhaps you'll let me shoot for a bit. I can give you some pointers as I do." Quickly Jessa took his meaning. She handed her bow over to the squire, Robby, as they all stepped back to the longest distance the pages' field would allow. Robby returned with Washburn's raven-wood bow. The ebony weapon stood to the height of Jessa's nose. She eyed the target at the far end of the field and shivered. It seemed incredibly distant. Wash took up his weapon as if it was part of his arm. He planted his feet securely and smiled at his attentive wife.

"Place your hand on my shoulder and follow me in this," he invited. Jessa stepped to his left side, her hand on his outstretched arm. Once more she became one with her husband's thoughts. She felt him weigh the arrow in his hand, test the wind that brushed over the field, and gauge the full distance to the butt's yellow center. He did this as another person might take a step from one foot to the other as a matter of walking without giving it thought. In one fluid motion, he pulled back on the string. His muscles firmed from the tension. Purposely, he changed his aim to left of center. She could sense his thoughts overriding his need for accuracy. The arrow released, smooth and straight, just a hair off center. Push—she followed his power, felt how he moved the arrow that infinitesimal amount. Thud—the arrowhead sunk dead center next to Jessa's last one.

Jessa smiled giddily, like a child discovering a new toy. "May I, please?" she asked, not sure he would be willing to let her shift the arrow alone.

"Very well, if you think you're ready. You know it's my reputation on the line. If I miss at this short distance, I will be the joke of the barracks for weeks."

"You never miss?" she asked with a slight twinkle in her grey eyes.

"Not in a very long time, my lady," he said teasingly. He took a new arrow from Robby. _Are you ready?_ he asked, turning to Mind Speech. _This moves far faster than you may imagine. No time to think it through._

 _I'm ready,_ she replied in the same way.

He drew, purposely aiming off mark, and then loosed the arrow. Unaccompanied, Jessa followed the arrow's head. Just as Washburn had done, she anxiously Pushed on the tip. Too much, too late. It overshot and hit the red ring adjoining the yellow center. She moaned in her disappointment. Wash only laughed. "Very nice. You are a lot faster student than I expected. Hopefully, the men won't begrudge me that one."

"One more time, my lord? I promise to do better, it is not a success until the center is hit."

"Aye, it is not," he agreed. This time he called out his actions, daring her to keep up with his speed. "Nock… Mark… Draw… Loose!" On his last word, he let the arrow fly, aiming high at the outer black ring. Jessa held the energies that bound the arrow's velocity. With closed eyes and breath held, she shifted the arrow's trajectory. _Thud!_ She opened her eyes. The arrow nested in the very center of the yellow bull's-eye. Wash said not a word; his kiss on her brow was more than his words could say.

"We'll practice more tomorrow and as long as the weather continues to hold. Need to give you a chance to build up the strength in your arm and the energies for your aim. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes, my Lord Washburn, a chance to shoot with you again will be more than agreeable." Jessa smiled up at his square jaw, high cheeks, and sky blue eyes. She loved his eyes. And his broad shoulders,—oh how she loved the strength of his arms!

"I believe we will try the squire's range tomorrow," the Knight Captain was saying in a tone overly loud so that those in the closest galleries could hear his words.

"Very good, Sir Washburn." Robby said with a bow as he took the raven-wood bow. "Lord Muir has requested your assistance in his office, and the Baroness Kyriell has requested the presence of Lady Jessamyn in her solar when she becomes available."

"Thank you, my good squire. That will be all then, until dinner," Sir Washburn replied. "I will see to it that Lady Jessa arrives at Lady Elzia's rooms." The Knight Captain extended his arm out to his wife. When she had rested her arm over his, he proudly escorted her from the practice grounds back to the castle. They passed many faces that were both pleased and envious. Rumors would fly through the halls this day, of which none would find fault with the Knight Captain's skill in teaching his new bride to shoot.

Notes *Cynfyn- I have it on authority that the family name should be properly pronounced like _Keen-fin_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Healer's Inheritance **

Chapter 2- A Mother's Lessons

Stopping before the high archway that led to the Tralian's guest rooms, Sir Washburn reached up to tap the knocker against the wood door. The black fabric of his sleeve shimmered in the torchlight, as did his eyes as he turned back to his wife to bid her adieu. "With a fond heart, I will await our rejoining at dinner," he said, bring the back of her hand to his lips in a chaste kiss. "Until this evening then, my angel." He was still holding her hand when the door opened. At its threshold stood Lady Cecilia, the Baroness Kyriell's lady-in-waiting. Cecilia stepped back and curtseyed, allowing Jessa to enter, but Sir Washburn mischievously refused to release Jessa's hand. With a wisp of mirth, the knight's mustache rose at the corners of his lips. _I miss you already,_ his mind whispered, charming his wife to remain where she stood. _Perhaps..._ An image flashed of them retreating behind private doors away from the cares of Cynfyn Castle.

 _Dear Heart!_ Jessa's cheeks flushed as if she were still a maiden. _Please!_ _You mustn't tease me so!_ Embarrassed, _s_ he glanced over at the lady in waiting, hoping Cecilia could not catch their private words. _You know we can not,_ t _he earl has asked for your presence, the same as my mother has asked for mine.  
_

 _Aye._ Wash gave her a look of disappointment _. We each have duties, but know I will be be restive without you by my side.  
_

 _As will I,_ Jessa mind-spoke with a breathless sigh. She raised his hand up to her heart. _Know this heart is for you and only for you, my Valiant Knight._

The blue of his eyes dipped from the blush of her cheeks, passed the high neckline of her modest gown, down to the curves beneath his hand. "Now it is you who are teasing me." He said while taking a step forward.

"Am I, my lord?" Jessa merrily giggled, taking a small step forward herself.

"My lord and lady!" called the indignant voice of the lady-in-waiting whom the couple had forgotten was still standing there

Fully embarrassed, Jessa stepped back, letting their hands, though still clasped, fall away.

Wash smiled and turned to the younger lady, "My apologies, Lady Cicilia." He gave her a small bow, than he turned back with a deeper bow for his fair wife. _My thoughts for the day will be only of you, my angle._

 _I pray-the, have care for your duties as well._ The playful gleam in her eyes met his, and then she shyly curtseyed low. _You are never far from my thoughts,_ she whispered back. Although these two had been married these past three weeks and Wash had fully won her heart, Jessamyn's handsome husband still treated his every encounter with her as one of courting and wooing. She thrilled at the game he played: small things such as missives of devotion on her desk, or ribbon-tied winter flowers on her pillow. Her heart went all a-flutter at every little way this valiant knight found to express his devotion.

An imparted warmth of magic tingled across her fingers. _To our duties then,_ he mind spoke _._ "The time will pass too slowly until dinner finds us together once more." The Knight Captain nodded to his lady, finally releasing her hand.

Jessa could not resist bringing that hand to her face, blushing further. She took one step into the door, but then quickly turned back not willing to lose the sight of him. He laughed at that, even as he spun on his heals to retreat down the hall.

Cecilia watched the exchange, barely tolerant of the two adults' childish display. She wasted little time in closing the door once Jessa had passed through, bringing an end to the newlyweds' playful encounter. Jessa smiled indulgently at the young noblewoman. At fourteen years old, Cecilia was just coming into her beauty. She had yet to experience the attention of admirers. It wouldn't be too long before the maiden would enjoying her own games of romance, but for now, the lady-in-waiting thought it foolishness to see two adults outwardly portray their love. Cecilia gestured for Jessa to wait behind the entrance screen while she went within to announce the arrival of the Knight Captain's wife.

Left to herself, Jessa could not help giggling with delight. Certain that no one could physically see her hidden behind the screen, she twirled around, her heart overflowing with happiness. Catching her balance, she tilted her head back, smiled at the ceiling and recalled her husband's pride at her success in Guiding the arrow to its mark. With a contented sigh that could be nothing less than an expression of love, Jessa opened her mind toward her mama, hoping to share her joy. Beyond the screen, she could not sense her mother. Although she was sure her mother sat in the window embrasure; the Baroness's shields were firm, emitting no suggestion of her presence. The only person she could sense was Cecilia, who paused halfway across the room and who seemed hesitant with embarrassment. For some unknown reason, Jessa realized her invitation into the room would not be quick in coming.

Jessa was torn with an inner desire to either escape, racing back into Washburn's arms, or to run to her mother's side and learn the reason for this delay. Her strict convent upbringing kept her where she stood. She knew Wash had tasks to complete that did not involve her hanging on his arm, and she guessed her mother would be more upset than she already seemed to be if her daughter did not at least _try_ to value the lessons she was attempting to instill. There was precious little time before Lady Elzia would leave Castle Cynfyn. Jessa's brother, Baron Jathurn, had announced he and his people would be leaving for their home the day after the Christmas feast. He had reason to return to the court of Tralia before the Twelfth Night ceremony. With just three days left, Jessa was determined to make the most of her mother's presence and to enjoy the brief interim they had left together. And like most mothers, Lady Elzia seemed to think the time was best spent imparting knowledge to help her daughter cope in her new life. It was one such lesson that forced Jessa to wait at the entrance of the solar to the Tralians' rooms.

And so the eighteen year old waited. For the first time, Jessa had time to study the screen that blocked the solar from the entrance door. Its intricate inlay of rosewood and other fine woods depicting a stylized silhouette of Castle Cynfyn before Mount Cashel was an artistic masterpiece. Turning from the screen, her gaze wandered toward the adjoining sleeping rooms. This series of rooms filled out the castle's southwestern corner of the third floor, allowing all the retainers of the Baron and Dowager Baroness to stay comfortably housed. They were the most lavish in the castle, with detailed wood paneling covering the walls instead of tapestries. The decor was befitting for a king, for the Kings of Gwynedd had been known to stay here.

It was in the brightness of the solar's latticed window embrasure, where Lady Elzia enjoyed sitting in the afternoons to renew her relationship with her daughter. Though Jessa had been at first shy, she had soon learned to trust her mama and be more forthcoming about her life in the convent. When Lady Elzia shared stories of the past, they were often more than stories of herself and her other children. She wanted to teach her daughter the knowledge she felt Jessa had missed; some things were about being Deryni, but most were about being a woman of nobility. The dowager Baroness's goal was to return her newly found daughter back to the station of her birth. She stressed that Jessa could no longer claim a novice's demeanor, that it was of utmost importance for the newly married noble woman to act in accordance with her position. Her favored words were: "Propriety should always be observed," or "Adherence to the formalities will serve you best."

Despite her mother's teachings, Jessa grew fidgety while waiting. Her joy turned to concern; she began to wonder what it was that she had done to warrant this silence. She wanted to rush into the room and share the excitement of her earlier discovery, but perhaps it was these feelings that were the very cause of her delay. If so, she might be standing here all day, unless she could gain control over her outpouring of emotions.

For half of her years, she had not lived among other Deryni. Until her mother had brought it to her attention, she had not realized how apparent her emotions were to those who had the abilities to detect them. It was taking practice to keep her shields strong, particularly in the presence of those she loved. Calming her uncourtly desire to giggle and dance, Jessa reformed her composure, smoothed her gown, brushed an escaped lock of gold hair back under her veil, firmed up the shields over her mind, and then stood tall as she'd been taught was the proper way to behave while waiting for an official introduction into the presence of nobility.

With her efforts, Jessa perceived a nod of approval from her mother, who finally allowed Cecilia to formally announce her.

"The Lady Cynfyn is here as you requested, my lady," Cecilia stated as if no time had passed at all.

"Please ask my beloved daughter to attend me," Lady Elzia replied in proper tone.

The baroness's maiden-in-waiting returned with a curtsy to summon the Knight Captain's wife into the room. She gave Jessa a silent apology, to which Jessa responded with a reassuring clasp of her hand. Baron Jathurn had introduced Cecilia as his wife's cousin, making her a relation by marriage. She was one of the two women who had accompanied the baroness from Tralia. She was under Lady Elzia's tutelage for both chatelaine and Deryni training. Training the Baroness's youngest daughter had not had the privilege to receive.

Jessa turned into the room to see her mother seated in the window's sunlight. Elzia placed her needlework in the basket near her feet. "Come to me, Cara Mia." Lady Elzia opened her hands in a welcoming gesture, as if there had been no test to make Jessa behave as a lady should. The dowager baroness was not dressed as a princess of Tralia might. Instead, she chose the somber attire of a gown of forest green velvet with fox fur along the neck and sleeves. Her gown was becoming to the widowed wife of Baron Jacuth Kyriell, physician to the former king. Yet it hid her true status as sister to the current Hort of Orsal, which was the knowledge of but a handful of people within the Kingdom of Gwynedd.

"Come, sit beside me, and tell me how your morning has gone." She moved with an inherent elegance and grace. "Cecilia, please be so kind as to find us refreshments from the kitchen; Master Cairn should have made ready my earlier request." As the young woman curtseyed and left the room, Elzia turned back to her daughter. "You must be starved, my Jessamyn; I hear you spent your morning on the archery range?"

"Yes, mama, I did. I hope your morning has gone as well as mine." Jessa replied as she kissed her mother's cheek before she settled herself on the window seat opposite. "I do believe I am a little hungry." She sat tall and proper, but then her exuberance bubbled over her composure as she exclaimed, "I made the target today! I am enjoying archery!" Jessa beamed at the fresh memory. Her expression was so bright in the warm sunlight that her mother could not scold her over the outburst.

"Indeed, Cara Mia. I did hear that you made your first bull's-eye." She leaned over and patted her child's knee. "It is good that you are catching on quickly, though... I am wondering if it is almost too quickly." Her mother said this with an odd tone in her voice.

It became apparent, once again, that the baroness did not approved of this particular activity for a married woman. Yet, the Countess Melina, the Lady of the Castle Cynfyn, had encouraged Jessa in this endeavor. In fact, the countess had commented just the previous evening that a knight's wife should know how to draw a bow. With those words, her mother had nothing further to say to dissuade her daughter. Jessa was glad the protest had come to an end. For in truth, she was finding her time on the practice yard a joy; much better that, than the company of women in the galleries spectating.

After the first winter storms of early December had eased, Jessa had joined the castle residents out of doors in the galleries to watch the men train the boys in swordplay and archery. She quickly discovered that as the men sparred on the field, so did the women who watched, only it was the weapon of words that the women used to inflict their wounds and win their bouts. The convent had not played this game of gossip and sharp tongue, and Jessa was at a loss as to its rules. She had not yet become the target of these women's focus. As yet, she had not been forced to parry their words. Instead, she watched as others defended and counterattacked words that were said in jest, yet were meant to sting. She knew the day was not far off when she would have to stand strong against such an onslaught. In truth, it was a game she did not wished to play, and she found herself shying back from the others.

It was her mother who saw this weakness in her and who took it upon herself to train her daughter for such defense. She told her daughter that if she were to be the lady of her own house, then she had to act not only above such games, but she had to earn respect by standing strong as the curtain wall would stand against an onslaught. She was never to shy away, or let women of lower status debase her with their seemingly lighthearted jests. Jessa tried to learn. She watched the women, as they watched the men practice, and learned how their brutal words were spoken and deflected. However, her ways from the convent had left her far too innocent to condone their cunning displays. It was her husband who, perhaps unwittingly or perhaps purposely, had offered Jessa an escape from the galleries to join him on the archery range. She was delighted at his offer. Anything that placed her at his side and away from the battles within the galleries would have been a relief.

"Too quickly? I'm not sure what you mean," Jessa inquired. "I've been at this three days; until today, I was slow to improve. However, I believe my tutor appeared pleased with my recent progress." Jessa smiled at her mother, who did not return the gesture. Her mother only looked at her with disapproval. A moment of silence passed before Jessa said, "I am amazed at how much you hear within the confines of this room." From her mother's indulgent look, she continued on with an attempt of wit to uphold her own defense. "And as for the bull's-eye, has it also become common knowledge that my Deryni husband was at my elbow, that he coaxed the arrow into the yellow center of the target? That it was not actually my hand that succeeded at all." She smiled innocently, attempting a jest, not understanding the gravity that crossed her mother's face.

"Your husband is Deryni?" came her mother's sharp reply. Jessa bristled at her mother's tone, then frowned in shame at her mother's next words. "Good Lord, child! Be careful what you say aloud. You may never know who is lurking behind the curtains or around a corner over-hearing your words." Elzia raised her eyebrows at her daughter, trying to stress her point that caution was of the utmost importance.

Fear overcame Jessa's shame. Instantly, her gaze darted around the guest's solar. After a moment, she realized her mother was toying with her while at the same time pointing out the errors of her comment. "I—I did not sense anyone else here; are we not alone?"

"Until Cecilia returns, we are alone, dear girl." Her mother's expression softened but the concern in her voice did not. "At this moment, your words have done no harm. However, you must learn to censor every utterance you would speak. Such words at any time could bring on the downfall of your house!" Elzia forced back a tear. "Never, Cara Mia, never say such a thing!" Her mother took a steadying breath; she had to make her daughter understand. "Your husband's traits may be accepted and even respected here in his home, but I do not think he would welcome you saying such a thing aloud where others who might not know the truth could overhear. Jessamyn," her mother's voice fell to a whisper, "that is how I lost your father and you twelve years ago. Please don't ever tempt that fate again." A tear of remembrance brushed her mother's cheek and Jessa was ashamed of the horrific memory her lapse had provoked.

A long silence passed before the baroness gathered her composure. "Discretion. In everything you do and say, you must use discretion! Especially in the use of the ability that you gleaned from your archery lesson today. You must hear this from me, it will help you keep your secret, and if the Knight Captain would reinforce my concern, than all the better that you shall heed it. First, if you intend to continue in this sport, then you need to learn the art of archery without the enhanced Guidance that you just discovered. Improve your skill. Then when you do use your abilities, use them as often to miss the target as you do to hit it. Trust me; learning to deflect a projectile is more important than shooting one, at least for women defending their home. And whatever you do, Cara Mia, don't close your eyes when you shoot. That action alone could cause others to discover who you are."

Jessa stared at her mother in shock. "How did you know that?"

"As I have said before, there is a strong network of information already in place in this community. A woman who you may know, but not truly know, recognized what you did. She told Cecilia to give you warning. By her account, no one else saw that closely, but you never know what this hive of busy bees will see." Her mother was stern. She watched her daughter intently, waiting for her to understand her full responsibilities.

Jessa took in a deep breath and exhaled a bit too loudly. She studied her fingers, rubbing the blisters that had formed once more from pulling on the bowstring. Unlike the day before, this time she did not heal the blemishes. She stared at them absently, wondering if she should show them off instead. "I did not realize how closely others were scrutinizing my every action." Exasperated with the knowledge that others watched her so closely, she realized the annoying little pains on her fingers were one more thing that she had to contend with in her caution. Healing them was too much of a giveaway. "It seems to me that winter time offers little in the way of distractions; gossip is too much of an enjoyment. I had thought that after many weeks, people would have become bored with prying into my life. Certainly there must be other people more interesting than me?" She looked across at her mother, wondering why it was that no one was gossiping about the baroness.

Lady Elzia features softened into a smile at her daughter's expression. "Dearest Jessamyn, I am an old woman who keeps a low profile; you, on the other hand, are young, vibrant, and beautiful. Women love to talk, and at the moment, they particularly love talking about you. You are the most interesting thing that has come into these halls in a long time. Not only did you arrive as a poor convent novice who attended their knights after battle and then their heir's birth, somehow you managed to win the love of their celebrated hero, the man who, I have no doubt, was the dream of every maiden in Lendour. Of course, they are prying into your life. They want to know you better than you know yourself. It may have been easy for you to hide in the convent— to them, you were just a simple novice. But here, Cara Mia, here you are at the center of their world."

When the young woman shook her head, not truly able to comprehend the importance of her new position, her mother's expression warmed. "It is all well, my beloved. This society of Lendour is not so very complicated that you will not master it in short time. The best thing you can do is join in the hive, be less separated from them. Give them a part of yourself that you want for them to see. I have watched you; you earn the respect of those you let near. It is time you became a part of the whole of this castle. Take your lead from the countess. She is a gracious lady; let her be your guide. Above all, present yourself in a manner that will withstand scrutiny."

"So I thought I was," the young woman whispered to herself with a dour expression. "I'm sorry, mama. I did not realize..."

"I wish.… Oh, how I wish…." Her mother patted the cushion at her side, bidding her daughter to move closer. "The convent is a poor substitute for a mother's love. It is I who have failed you, my child. I should have found you, I should have known— for that, I am so sorry."

Jessa moved over. "Mama, you have no blame, none whatsoever." With a slight tremor in her fingers she grasped her mother's hand. "You lost your husband and believed you lost a daughter too. I was too distraught to realize how badly I had misread my rescuer's thoughts; I believed I had lost my whole family… It is I who should have…." Jessa fell silent. She withheld the tears. No amount of wishing could change the past.

But the tears fell down her mother's cheeks. Elzia's voice caught in her throat. She embraced her daughter, desperately wanting to make up for the past. "Our time together is too short. There are so many things I want to teach you. Come to me this summer, please, would you come to Orsalis? Our island is a perfect place to escape the heat and humidity. I would very much like Sir Washburn to bring you there, you can both be my guests for a while. He wouldn't mind, would he, if I asked this of him?"

Jessa sat up straighter. "I would like that. However, I cannot speak for my husband. His obligations are to the earl and to the King. We would not be able to make such plans until the events of the coming spring are better known."

"I understand." Lady Elzia kissed her daughter's cheek, held her tight once more, than let her go. She stood, brushed out her gown, and crossed to the decanter of wine on a nearby table. She poured two goblets. "Let us hope for peace," she said as she returned holding one cup out for her daughter. "I am glad Torenth was defeated by your king. Last summer, we had both the threat of marauders sailing across from the west and Torenth's army marching down from the north. Our prince had us gearing for war. After the burning of Grecotha, the Torenthi at our borders acted as though they had Gwynedd conquered. They were turning their eyes to the river deltas and to Tralia. If your King Jasher had not pushed them back to Rengarth, then they would have taken Coroth and Orsalis. Torenth makes no secret of its desire to gain one, if not both of those harbors. It would open their trade routes that currently require clearance from our ports. Tralia's army is small compared to the might of Torenth. With our fleet being harassed by ships from the west, our resources were split and that put Tralia in a very bad position. Thank the Lord for men like Sir Washburn who led the victory at Rengarth, Torenth's plans to move south were destroyed before they'd begun."

Jessa's features lifted and gained color at the praise her mother gave her husband. Though Jessa's actions rarely pleased her mother, her choice in a husband seemed a point of pride that the baroness did not hide. The Knight Captain of the Lendour army was a man of good reputation, apparently even in the lands east of Gwynedd. Jessa remembered the trepidation she had felt in the days after she had sent off her life memories in the coins to Tralia. She had been so uncertain then. Would her mother even accept her as her daughter, and would she accept Sir Washburn as her daughter's betrothed? "He is the best of men," Jessa said with a smile warming her expression. "That you approve of him pleases me greatly."

The door opened, and Cecilia entered with two servants carrying trays laden with food. The table at the center of the room was quickly set with platters of meat rolls, cheeses and bread; garnishes of buttered onions and olives were on the side.

"Ah, good, there is enough for all. I have a surprise for both you girls." The baroness gestured for Cecilia to join them. "As you're aware, Lendour plans a great feast in two days, with dancing and food the likes of which neither of you may have seen before. Eat what you like to dull your hunger," she gestured toward the food, "but be sparing. For this afternoon, I have asked Troubadour Harlo and Dance Master Lannis to join us, along with some younger ladies here at the castle. I think a little rehearsal on the newest dance would be welcome. Wouldn't you agree?" The two girls shared a giggle. The baroness was done with her lessons of the day. She only wished to spend her remaining time with her daughter in happier pursuits. Dancing seemed a joyous sport, proper for the young women of nobility, far more so than archery, Jessa mused.


	3. Chapter 3

**Healer's Inheritance **

**Chapter 3- The Sweetness of Hypocras.**

 _Sir Washburn, my lord, do you hear me?_

The contact came late, far past the appointed time. Concern had forced Washburn to hold the link open, reluctant to give up on the possibility of Dillon's call coming through. The longer the Knight Captain waited, the greater his disquiet over his lieutenant's tardiness. Dillon was not one to forgo his duty or lapse from over-drinking at a local tavern. So it was that Wash waited for two hours beyond the designated time, his thoughts wandering to what type of trouble his men had encountered on the road south. The mental voice that finally established the link held a hint of exhaustion beneath an abrupt tone of irritation. Wash did not need a visual to see Dillon sitting before the campfire with tension creasing his brow and rigid fingers clenching the hilt of his dagger. He knew his friend well enough to know when something had gone amiss.

 _Dillon, there you are! Tell me what has happened! I got an impression earlier that you were fiercely angry. Was there a fight?  
_

 _If you call brawling with the deaf, dumb and blind of the clergy in this town a fight, then aye!_ came the lieutenant's infuriated words. _One more debasing comment toward my Earl over his rights to hold Lendour, and that man would have had my blade in his gut._ Dillon barely contained his anger. _I swear to you, Captain, if it wasn't blasphemy to stick a priest, I…. Even so, the temptation to slam my hilt into that dolt's chin was…. My God... anything to put an end to his blathering._

There was a tense moment of silence, leading the Knight Captain to ask, _Did you… did you strike the id— priest?_ Wash almost wished his lieutenant would say yes, but then he conceded that Dillon had made the right choice when he responded, _No!_.

 _Not even when their numbers multiplied and they advanced on us spouting the Statutes of Ramos._ The disgust from the distant mind was hard to hide. _Although you should have seen the fear in their faces when we four knights of Lendour, as one, unsheathed our swords in the name of honor. That should have intimidated anyone else with half a mind into shutting up! But, my God, for a moment I swear I was sure these monks didn't share half a mind between them. Of course, that's when the magistrate showed up and kept us from slaughtering the braggarts._ Dillon's tone held no remorse for drawing swords upon the clergy, only frustration at his stalled mission.

Wash steadied his own irritation before commenting across the link. _Stay your hand. The clergy's opinion of Lendour is nothing new. Did you find our shipment? Can you tell me why it's been delayed? What can I do from here to get our grain back on the road?_ The captain's inquiry was diplomatic, his personal disgust pushed behind tight shields.

 _At this moment, the monastery of New Argoed believes they have rightfully confiscated our grain. I love how they preach against the sin of theft, and yet they are quick to impound goods when the gain is in their favor._ Dillon spat into the fire, then fell silent. When his Mind-Speech resumed, his tone had noticeably calmed. He returned to his usual manner of giving a formal report, passing across the link an accounting of their last two days.

He and his men had arrived at the Abbeyford Ferry to cross the Lendour River at the noon hour the day before. The ferry was anchored securely to the opposite bank. It was apparent it had not moved for some time. A traveler confirmed their fears. The ferry remained closed presumably due to the high water and strong current. _To my way of thinking, the river didn't look overly swift, but there was no means to test this theory. Without the ferry, we had no choice but to go west—five hours west before we found a ford the locals claimed was shallow enough to cross. I think they thought it'd be entertaining to see us drown_. At the notion, Sir Dillon sniggered.

 _It was deep,_ he admitted. _Fortunately, the waters were not as swift as everyone seemed to believe. We crossed this morning then rode back east to the ferry landing on the south bank, where I had a few choice words with the ferryman_.

 _To sum it all up. The monastery at New Argoed has been reclaimed by a new abbot, a Human abbot._ Dillon paused, once more unable to hide his opinion. _I'm repulsed by the notion that such a man as Father Alan Darby has laid claim to what once was a sacred Deryni house of worship. They did not even change the name_. A loathsome curse finished Dillon's thoughts.

 _During that big storm a few weeks back, this new abbot ordered the ferry closed. All travel north was halted at the river. As recompense, the town offered hospitality in the reclaimed buildings until the weather passed. Many merchants including our men accepted the shelter. Our Coroth shipment remains in this same shelter, a stone building adjacent to the wall of the abbey._

 _The trouble came after the weather cleared. The abbot declared the river too swift for safe travel and the ferry remained closed. The magistrate of the town then demanded proof of ownership for all goods in the shelters before they would be released. Thereby, Sir Kass presented our bill of sale from Corwyn. That is when the magistrate declared the document illegal!_ Dillon cursed in disgust. _That bedamned Statutes of Ramos! Forgive me for repeating this insanity, but the magistrate has translated this Ramos nonsense to mean that Duke Jernian and Earl Muir are disallowed from conducting business between their two houses without signed permission from the King. He named the goods on the wagons stolen and confiscated them. All such confiscated items are given to the Abbey, which has backed the magistrate in this theft._

Washburn was instantly infuriated by the sanctimonious interpritation of the Statutes of Ramos. Those laws were a vigorous denunciation designed to shove his kind into lowest of societies ranking. Many Deryni had lost their lives by wrongfully being accused of braking these laws. The link faltered as Wash lost his level of focus. The Knight Captain forcibly had to relax the tension across his chest and shoulders and take a deep breath to steady his thoughts. The sweet lady in his arms stirred in her sleep as he drew energy from her, no more than she was willing to offer, but enough to keep the needed contact open. The side effect for her, which he regretted, was that she would require extra sleep in the morning. He made a note to himself to tell Jessa's waiting-maid that she was to let his lady sleep until she awoke on her own.

 _Ours weren't the only goods the magistrate found fault with_ , Dillon was saying. _Other travelers had their goods confiscated too. There was an unruly protest by the merchants. They took up swords in attempt to force the release of their property. I'm afraid to say that Sir Kass and Sir Lambert joined them. The rebellion was short and was quickly quelled by the overwhelming numbers of the magistrate's men. For two weeks, our knights have been languishing in a locked cell under the magistrate's store rooms. I just spent the evening bargaining for their release._

Wash wasn't sure he wanted to know what that had cost. He did not ask. Instead, he quelled his anger and asked after the welfare of his men. _Kass and Lambert, are they well?_

 _Oh, aye. Pissing mad at the dishonor and very hungry. The magistrate apparently saw little need to feed his prisoners little more than a daily lump of stale bread and a spoonful of foul stew._

Wash was sent the image of his two knights as they were released, their heads bowed low before their lieutenant and their fists white-knuckled as they walked past their jailers. _And the grain?_ Wash forced himself to ask.

 _After our knights became locked away, the abbey sent monks to move our wagons. Sergeant Daniels put a stop to that. He posted men about the building. They've been guarding it since. Short of breaking down the doors and fighting past the barricade built near the end of the way, Daniels could do nothing more to liberate the grain, but he damn well made certain no one else could, either. That is as we found the situation this afternoon._

 _And you say the river should be passable? That the ferry is purposely being held closed to enforce their claim?_

 _Aye! It is._

 _Very well. In two days, I am escorting the Tralian Delegation south to meet their ship in Coroth. I will send word to the steward of Carthmoor suggesting that the passage had best be open by the time we get there, or he will risk ill will between our two nations. I am sure the King would not look too kindly on Steward Barlum if this gets to his ears. Which is exactly what I intend for the king to hear. Trust me, the ferry will be running when we arrive_.

Dillon made an appreciative laugh. _I believe it will be, Captain._

 _Guard the grain well until then. I'll see that the wagons get released into our possession from here. Just be ready to move out when we get there, which should be on the Feast of the Holy Innocents._

 _I will look forward to Father Darby's face when we drive the shipment north,_ Dillon announced with satisfaction.

Wash sighed, _Hold steady, my friend. I am sorry your Christmas will be spent in Abbeyford._

 _All in the line of duty, Captain._ A brief pause. _Give my regrets to your bride. I had promised her the Dance of the Hawk; you will have to take the dance in my name. I won't call again unless there is need._

At the thought of his lady, Washburn was coaxed into a lighter mood. His face relaxed with a smile. Although, he would not let on to Dillon that his arms surrounded his sleeping bride. _Just in case, I will open a link at each Compline until I can arrive at your location._

 _Very well, Captain._ Dillon's exhaustion came through in his last words. Mind linking took its toll on even a strong man's energy. Wash had a sense that Dillon used at least three of his hand picked men to aid him in the magic. Although those men slept through the contact, it was likely they could retain some of what had been said. Such were the risks and the reason Dillon had loyal men.

Wash had his pretty lass under his touch. She had agreed to help him with the contact, but with the waiting she had fallen asleep. What surprised him was how she stirred to wakefulness as the link came to an end.

"What, my lord? Has your lieutenant called?"

"Yes, angel, all will be well. I'll tell you about it in the morning, so go back to sleep." She nestled deeper under his arm. Her head resting on his chest, her hand on his shoulder. Wash brushed his fingers over her eyes, momentarily feeling the joy she retained from both the past day's discoveries and their early evening romance. Her desires for living and learning revitalized his soul. Too long had it been since either of them had known happiness; he'd been engrossed in the pure survival of war and she'd been restrained by the discipline of the convent. Like a bird freed from her cage, Jessa took ecstatic joy in testing her wings at every opportunity and Wash took his joy in watching her learn. In her abilities to learn, Wash realized he should have heeded her mother's warning when they first met. He didn't believe the baroness knew her own daughter well enough, not after twelve years of separation. So he discounted her warning when she had told him how, of all her children, her youngest was the most adept at learning the arts. He should take care in what he taught her, and not teach her something only by half, for Jessamyn had a tendency to discover the other half on her own. Which, with the way of magic, could lead to trouble.

Washburn still thought Baroness Elzia overprotective, but he was continually amazed by his young bride. However, it wasn't her learning the arts that gave him concern. His greatest concern for her was fitting in with the gaggle of women that filled the halls of Cynfyn. He felt as the baroness felt, that she was too innocent for their ways, but it was part of her charm. Though he understood her mother wanting her to grow wiser, he resisted the need to teach her too fast. Therefore, when he'd heard trouble was brewing in the galleries, thinking his presence would be her best protection, he rescued her by calling her to join him on the archery range. Her mother had argued against it, but Jessa's enthusiasm had countered that disagreement. Truthfully, he had not expected Jessa to catch on so quickly. A young Deryni squire might take days to master the guidance, but by following what he did as he did it, she understood it in just a few tries. Her focus was amazing; likely a necessity for Healing. Only her endurance hindered her learning. She was young and tired easily. With time, practice would improve her strength.

He embraced his beloved pulling her closer. Her hair had escaped its twist, and as she snuggled up to him, the strands tickled his chin. How she always managed to smell of flowers, even in the midst of winter, he did not know. Not a strong scent, not like the perfumes worn by other women he had known. No, his angel incorporated the fresh smell of spring with the soft skin of a newborn and waves of silken gold hair. He brushed her hair aside and kissed the softness of her neck. Not truly awake, she stirred in his embrace, her lips parting in a soft smile. Her thoughts were of pure happiness.

It took all his will to slip out from under her. He tucked the blankets around her before he turned to the hearth, tossing in a new log to refuel the shimmering flame. He had letters to write that needed to be signed by the earl and then sent out with messengers to Steward Barlum and King Cluim at first light. At his desk, across the room from the bed, he lit his handfire to illuminate the parchment that would carry his formal requests. His words were written in diplomacy, using the leverage of his guests to achieve his goals. The Steward would be hard placed to refuse Lendour's petition once made so formally. At least so he hoped. His letter to the king requested the necessary signature required to make the earl's purchase legal. It shamed his family name to suffer this contrivance of the Statues of Ramos. But the Cynfyn legacy of standing proud as Deryni in an anti-Deryni land often meant bowing to aggressors such as the abbot of New Argoed. To do otherwise would harm the very tenuous position of his people. For now, he would follow the Statutes; he would ask forgiveness from his King for conducting business without royal consent. As he put ink to quill, he glanced over to the bed. His bride lay curled under the covers, hugging his pillow in her sleep.

* * *

Jessa turned within the blankets, knowing long before she was fully aware that she lay alone in their bed. Instinctively, she had known when her beloved had retreated from her touch in the middle of the night; she knew when he had returned to her, bringing his chilled hands and feet into her warmth, and then again even as she slept, she had felt him leave sometime before dawn. She knew the reason for it, and she knew she had missed an opportunity. She could blame the playful bed games that he had enticed her with in the earlier parts of the evening before, but she could find no fault with those particular enjoyments. If only she had not been so exhausted as to be sound asleep when Sir Dillon's contact came. Perhaps tonight she could stay more attentive. Then she remembered what day it was and all the activities planned for the day. She mulled over the likelihood of her stealing a nap around Compline to be ready to attend midnight Mass, and the likelihood of Wash letting her sleep through that contact too.

Jessa hugged her husband's pillow. His scent still lingered there. A deep breath and she willed herself to go back to sleep, preferring this dreamy state of bliss. Then came the rustle of fabric and the warmth of sunlight across her cheek.

"A merry Christmas Eve to you, Lady Jessamyn. How are you this fine morning?" Lady Lisa's inquiry was full of cheer. Unwillingly, Jessa opened an eye to the morning brightness and the silhouette of a woman at the window tying the curtains back with a heavy cord.

"How late is it?" Jessa asked as she scrunched her eyes and pulled herself up to the head of the bed. After a quick fluff of the pillow at her back, she looked around the room, this time seeing it more clearly. Her cell at the convent had been small and dark, a room not much bigger than the bed she now slept in. The Knight Captain's apartment was an extravagance of size with the luxury of morning sunlight, which still overwhelmed her senses. His rooms, which she had to remind herself were now hers as well, were similar to the guest solar down the hall, though not so grand in decor. Here a few dulled tapestries covered the more simply paneled walls. The furniture was sparse, more for function than comfort. Four rooms on the castle's third floor had been dedicated to Washburn since his knighthood, although from the stories told, Jessa gathered that before this winter he had seldom found himself living here. The years of war had him living in the field with his men, and before the war he had lived in Rhemuth. Jessa learned soon enough from the castle gossip that his first wife, Lady Camilla Claibourne de Cynfyn, preferred their rooms at Rhemuth Castle near the courtly society of the queen. So it was that the only feminine touches that were found in these rooms were those that had once belonged to another lady, the Countess Lillian Ashburn de Cynfyn, his mother. Jessa wished she had met the mother of the two lords of Cynfyn; from the embroideries about the room and private books on the shelf, Jessa could tell she had been a meticulous lady.

Jessa's eyes adjusted to the daylight. From her position in bed, she could look out beyond the tall windows facing south and look over the castle's curtain walls to the forested mountains beyond. She could not see the river below the wall, but she could just hear the faint rumbling of water dancing over the rocks in its course to the valley below the castle's palisade. The city of Cynfyn was west, out of view of her vantage; however, looking south, she could just imagine seeing the ridge that hid the valley of Ashburn. Her husband had pointed out the watch tower at the top of the ridge that crested his inherited lands with a sweeping vista of vineyards. Wash promised he would take her there come spring. The rebuilding of the manor house would begin then, and as promised by the earl, she could have her say in its decor. They said it would be two years before it would be done. Her own house. Imagine that! Nine weeks before, she could never have contemplated leaving the convent. Now she could never contemplate going back.

She loved the big bed, the open space, the tall windows, and warm hearth. Yet she had not become reconciled to the plethora of servants that came with the room and with her new rank in nobility. Even the smallest tasks that she started to do for herself would be taken over by one of a dozen women. One day, not so long ago, she had snuck down to the kitchens to find some hot soup, the way she had done when she had been a caregiver to the countess. As soon as she'd been discovered there, everyone tripped over themselves to see to her needs and usher her back out to the main hall. Afterward, she had learned that her personal waiting maid had been punished for not seeing to her mistress's needs. Ashamed, Jessa apologized to all involved, stating that she had not known her actions would create such an uproar. Her conscience was finding nobility far more restricting than she had imagined. She promised herself she would make no more work for others than that which was necessary. Even as she thought the quiet moment of basking in the winter sunlight on her bed would be safe, she frowned as Lady Lisa called forth two women. One brought forth a hot beverage, and the other her red wool gown, which was laid across the foot of the bed. With a grateful smile to both women, Jessa accepted the steaming mug, breathing in the aroma of cinnamon in mulled wine. She took a sip and her insecurities fell away.

"What a lovely concoction! May I ask what it is?" She relaxed as she took another sip, letting the sweet steam tickle her nose.

"Hypocras, my lady. Heated Ashburn wine with cinnamon and cloves, and I believe a dash of cardamom and ginger, all mixed with a good store of sugar."

"Sugar? This has real sugar?" replied Jessa, amazed. She had never tasted the luxurious sweet salt before. Only the highest of lords could afford these crystals, which were brought into Gwynedd by spice traders. Honey was the sweetener of choice, and in the convent, even that was used sparingly. Jessa took a deeper sip and knew real pleasure.

The expression on her face must have shown, for Lady Lisa began to laugh. "You and Master _Cervus Dulcis_ are decidedly a match."

"Who? Master _Cervus Dulcis_ — _sweet deer_? I'm sorry, Lady Lisa, I don't understand." Jessa looked perplexed as she watched the older lady-in-waiting step to the side of her bed, her cheeks tightening, unsure how to explain.

"You have not heard that story? Well, no, I can see where you would not have. Perhaps it is best if old stories wither away to be replaced with fresher ones," explained Lady Lisa, having decided to say no more. Instead, she turned to the gown on the bed to fuss over the hem.

"Oh, no! You cannot compare me to this Sugared Deer and then not tell me why it brings mirth to your lips. If I'm to be made a fool, I'd like to understand why," Jessa lightly quipped, attempting to encourage the tale.

"Lady Jessamyn, please, I meant no affront," Lady Lisa replied while taking a step back to curtsy before the girl in bed.

Once again, Jessa felt an uncomfortable, heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. "Forgive me, Lady Lisa, I am a fool. My manners once more appear lacking. In truth, I was only hoping to entice you to tell the story, but I see I should not ask this of you."

There was empathy in the old woman's eyes. "My lady, your manners are far from lacking and you are certainly not among the foolish. Just innocent, I'd say. That is why I asked to take you on." As Jessa pondered those words, the older lady having changed her mind, waved her hand to excuse the two serving girls from the room. When the door closed, Lady Lisa came to sit on the side of the bed. "Let me tell you the tale of _Cervus Dulcis_ from a Christmas Eve some twenty years ago." A warm glow filled the older woman's cheeks at the memory.

"I remember it well. My husband, Baron Donneral, and I were often guests to the Earl and Countess's feasts throughout the year. Lady Lillian and I shared a friendship; I was as loyal to my countess as my late baron was to his earl." The older woman paused in reflection, her fingers touching the white work embroidery on the bed cover—Lady Cynfyn's hand work. "I remember Sir Washburn back then as a tall, gangly lad of six or seven, a few years younger than my own boys, always following the older boys fearlessly into all sorts of mischief." Lady Lisa's smile widened as her thoughts turned to the trouble her boys were often caught at. "That Christmas Eve, just before the feast began, there came a great disturbance from the kitchens, followed by the bellowing voice of the cook. I recall a squire hastily making a request for the steward to make his presence known before the cook. Steward Ohlin looked none too pleased to go, and when he returned, the displeasure on his face was cause for everyone to fall silent to learn what had happened. As we all watched, the steward pulled forth the young master who'd followed by reprimand close behind. With his eyes downcast upon the empty platter that he held, the earl's youngest was forced to admit that he had eaten his fill of the candied desserts that had at one time filled the dish. Confections that the kitchen staff had painstakingly shaped red candy into Cynfyn stags and then mounted them with decadent creams on shield-shaped baked meringues. The cook was furious, and Stewart Ohlin was also, once he had learned the expense of the dessert's main ingredient: sweet salt specially caravanned in from Bremagne." The older lady sadly shook her head, but could not hide the mirth behind her pursed lips. "That poor boy was punished, not so much for eating the candies, but more for not divulging who had helped him eat them. Certainly no one could have eaten all those alone." Lady Lisa's eyes widened, letting Jessa guess just who might have been his accomplices. Certainly Lady Lisa's own sons had a part in the incident, but it seemed likely that the older son of the late earl had a hand in the desserts' disappearance as well. "My Robert confessed on Christmas Day to his part in the theft, but it was already too late. The young master had been sent to the kitchens to do as the cook commanded, scrubbing pots while everyone feasted. By morning he had earned the title _Cervus Dulcis_ , the Castle's Candied Hart; our very own _Sweet Hart_. The name stayed with him throughout the holiday court!" Lady Lisa suddenly blushed with a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened. "Oh dear! I should not have told you. Don't tell him. Oh dear, please, that should have stayed buried with time."

Jessa cheeks grew rosy as she tried to hide a laugh from the lady's tale. Little things like that brought forth the real man from the hero whom she had married. "That's the man I have fallen in love with: my loyal champion. _Cervus Dulcis_ — Yes, I can see that— _My Sweet Hart!_ " Jessa laughed as she snuggled into the pillows, dreamily sipping more of her spiced wine.

Several minutes passed before Jessa looked over at the woman who had wistfully returned to fussing with the hem of the red gown. "Baron Donneral— Baroness Lisa Donneral? My humblest apologies, my lady; all this time, no one told me. How foolish of me to think you were companion to the countess." Jessa fell silent once more, ashamed that she had not known the noble rank of the woman who attended her.

"But I am the companion to the countess: to Countess Lillian before, and now to Countess Melina."

"Then, Baroness, you should be at her side, not here in the rooms of a knight's wife." Jessa climbed out of bed, too self-conscious to stay in bed within the presence of one of higher station.

"I am the dowager of Donneral. My son Robert and his wife oversee my late husband's estate. When Robert brought his feisty young wife home, I knew it would be best to leave the manor to her. I chose to give my service to Lady Lillian. She was a wonderful woman, the countess was. I never regretted moving here, and I do miss her so."

"Then Robby is your—?"

"Grandson," Lady Lisa answered as she smiled warmly and placed a shawl across Jessa's shoulders. Jessa accepted the warmth of the wool with a curtsy to her better. "No, no, don't start that," the dowager baroness scolded. "I give my companionship freely, where I will. At the moment, I choose to give it to the young bride who has uplifted the heart of a knight who was brought too low by the events of the past. You have no idea what joy you have brought to the dreary walls of this castle."

"But I…"

"Don't protest, it is Christmas Eve. Twelve days of joy are upon us and we have much to celebrate." Lady Lisa clapped her hands and the two waiting girls reentered the room. "Time for your bath and dressing. There is much to do today."


	4. Chapter 4

**Healer's Inheritance **

**Chapter 4- Master Cervus Dulcis**

Jessa's aim was improving. She attributed much of her success to the fancy bow she'd been lent. Not knowing which bow the commander's wife had used before, the attending squire chose one that he considered appropriate for an experienced noblewoman. His choice made Jessa shy back; it was a longbow of polished red oak with a leather grip. Without realizing her trepidation, the squire slipped the hemp cord over one end and then the other, bending the length easily into a curve. She looked at it skeptically, voicing her concern over its draw weight. "Forty pounds" had been the squire's answer as he handed across the sleek weapon. Her first test of the cord made her nod in acceptance. It was nearly twice the weight of yesterday's bow, but not so heavy as to impede her draw. In fact, after a few shots she found it an improvement, as the arrow traveled faster with better precision than the day before. The higher weight, however, gave her little time to mark her target. Even so, she was improving. Without Deryni Guidance, she could hit the butt from the forty yard mark half of the time. Minding what her mother had said, it was only on every second or third draw that she practiced her innate abilities to Guide the arrow into a corrected path. Each of these attempts found their home in the rings on the target; the last two had made the yellow center. With each success, her smile deepened; steadily she was getting a feel for how the magic worked.

It was good that only a few men were out in this cold air of Christmas Eve morning. Most of the castle residents were in morning service, where she should be. Jessa knew she should have felt guilty for sleeping in and missing the opening of the service, but that feeling escaped her. She would use the excuse that entering the chapel in the middle of Father Emesto's sermon would be far more disrespectful than missing the whole service. Much better to attend Father Pernal's preferred service at noon. This was a breach from her years in the convent. Why then did she feel so little guilt? The sisters of Saint Clair would call her thoughts blasphemous. If she had dared such a thing two months ago, the punishment would have been severe, but experience gained beyond the convent walls had changed her perception. She was discovering that the anti-Deryni dogma, which was so commonly decried in sermons, was not a part of every practitioner's preaching. There were a few who held a more tolerant view, whose sermons appealed more ardently to her inner faith.

Many were the actions of the clergy which she found contradictory to the love and tolerance that she studied in scripture. Jessa was glad Father Pernal was one to understand that a person born of the Deryni race was not by fault a servant of evil. He spoke of a person's motivations and actions being a clearer indication of a person's soul, not the circumstances of their birth. He stressed that morality was the responsibility of every man and woman, and those with more power had a greater responsibility to bare. His words were a far cry from what Jessa had heard every morning in the convent. In that place, they had preached fear, fear of those who were different. With fear came hate, and hate lead to oppression. Far too many men, women, and children accused of nothing more than being Deryni had been tied to the stake by fear-mongers. Barely three fortnights had passed since Jessa had been counted as one among them. Unlike the fate of others, Jessa had been rescued from the flames. She'd forgiven her abductor, may Sir Thomas's soul rest in peace, but the suffering from that event was not easily shed from her memories. So much changed on that day. Like a phoenix in the midst of fire, she knew of reawakening. She was Deryni and she was Healer; she had purpose, and now she was able to use that purpose for the good of her people. Much more so than could that novice who'd been sentence to a life of cleaning the cellars and Healing only when the abbess deemed it necessary.

Jessa put a third arrow in the dead center of the yellow bull's-eye. She allowed self-satisfaction to fill her heart before the teaching of both Father Pernal and her mother reprimanded her thoughts. _Be responsible_ and _not so many in the center_ , they had told her. Taking heed, Jessa eased her tension, choosing to change up the sport. Marking the yellow, she drew back fully and then loosed the arrow, purposely Pushing it away from the target. It was a subtle change in the magic, more like blowing an insect away with her breath than guiding the arrow home. To the naked eye, the angle of the projectile did not differ, but by the length of the field, the arrow had dropped considerably. It slid under the frame of the butt and skidded into the dirt mound beyond.

The archer laughed at the outcome. Pushing things away was quite a different feeling than guiding them. She was contemplating the difference when she felt a comforting presence come up behind her.

"Very nice," spoke the voice of her heart. "I was wondering if you would try that."

"Try missing, my lord?" Jessa questioned with an innocent pout. Turning, she saw Sir Washburn's knowing smile and that of Lord Muir's at his side. "Good morning, Lord Muir," she greeted, making her curtsy before the Earl. As she looked up, her face relit in a smile. "I'm learning the great talent of missing!" she innocently exclaimed. Beyond the castle lords, a number of people arrived to fill the galleries. The chapel service must have ended.

"I can see you _miss_ quit well." Lord Muir stated as he accepted her greeting. "Though I can see it is not every shot that you miss. Nicely placed." He gestured to the target at the end of the field. More than a dozen arrows protruded from its face; the majority were high and right, but the cluster near the center was hard to ignore. Only a few arrows were scattered in the dirt mound behind. "Correct the hesitancy in your release, and those…." He pointed high and right. "...will find their home closer to the yellow."

"Thank you, my lord. I will endeavor to practice as you say." She tilted her head toward Wash. The earl's brother raised his brows, holding back his pride, and waved for her to continue in her practice.

"For you," Jessa replied, taking up a new arrow. She nocked the arrow as she had most of the morning, between thumb and fourth finger, saving her index and middle fingers to pull back on the string. For the last several releases she had willed the pain away from the blisters that marred her skin. Repetition was the way to gain skill. She would deal with the damage to her hand when others weren't so focused on what she did. She drew back, concentrating to make a smooth release when Wash's hand clutched her elbow.

"Hold!" he demanded. "Drop!" The voice was the commander's, it allowed little resistance. She let the bow string disengage with difficulty in her tiring arm. Wash caught the arrow before it fell forward. He did not smile as he reached across for her right hand.

"Dear Lord! I believe you are done!" he swore on examination of what he saw. Her palm opened to reveal red wounds on her fingers that oozed from ruptured blisters and missing skin. He looked back up into her eyes, trying to understand why she did not Heal these. Why had she let them get so bad? "You should have told me and stopped before it came to this."

"Lady Elzia said I should be more careful," she said quietly. But " _more Human"_ was the word she used in her Mind Speech. _She says I am too obvious and need to hide my skills with more care. If that means having blisters, than that is what I must do._

"The baroness is cautious." _Overly so_ , Wash continued. He pulled a kerchief from his tunic and wrapped her fingers with care. _Please, cleanse these and heal them; keep them covered if you must, but I won't see you in pain._

She nodded, knowing her time at archery was done. Just when she had discovered a variable to the magic! With a fresh idea, her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Perhaps a shot or two by either of you before we retire?"

The Knight Captain's look reprimanded his lady in the way Jessa recalled her father would just before giving in and indulging his little girl. "Are you sure that is what you want?"

"Lady Jessa, you're incorrigible." The earl laughed at the side glance his brother gave him. "As in the old days," Lord Muir challenged. "First to miss?"

"We'll be here all day," came Washburn's dry remark. With a roll of his eyes and shake of his head, he called for his bow.

"Perhaps," Jessa whispered, wondering if she dared to play the game her way and if these men would allow such an incursion.

They backed away to 200 yards and tossed for who would draw first. The earl won and took a white feathered arrow from his squire. Four rounds passed as each man placed his arrows in a cluster at the yellow's center. The black feathered arrows appeared a hair inside the white feathered ones. On the fifth arrow, as Wash drew, Jessa remarked quietly, "May I, my lord?" She had been studying the strength in the commander's draw and the velocity that drove the arrow to its target. She felt she had the ability to Guide it home. Wash gave a slight nod and let the arrow go. She focused, and the arrow found the yellow but was not as centered as the others.

On his next draw, her Guidance was greatly improved; the arrowhead gliding into the midst of the cluster centered there.

"I was so certain your arm was tiring and you were going to give me the win," Lord Muir commented. "Though I can see I was wrong." The earl raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as he looked at his younger brother, but his next thoughts were for his brother's wife. _Lady Jessa, do you think you can Guide my arrow from where you stand?_ he inquired. _You would not let your earl lose honor by missing on this day of all days, would you?_ In his dare, Muir gave Jessa a bow before he raised his bow, pulled back the cord, and loosed the arrow. Terrified she might be the cause of his missing, Jessa managed just in time to push the earl's offset arrow back to center. It struck the target next to the black one just out of the main cluster.

 _I am sorry, my lord Muir,_ Jessa said, almost in tears from the near miss. She was beginning to regret the game she had begun.

However, Muir simply laughed. _Not bad at all. Next round try to make me miss; you do want your husband to win after all, don't you?_

"But…" Jessa hesitated realizing she had spoken aloud.

 _He set you a challenge, my beloved. This is the sport you wanted to play, is it not? Give it a try._ Wash laughed as he aimed and made a perfect shot.

Jessa was uncertain, but she nodded her acceptance. She stood with her back to the gallery, her eyes slightly glazed and her posture tall. Muir nocked the arrow, drew, and released. Jessa wrapped her thoughts around the field tip. As the detail of time slowed, she Pushed. It did not dip as she'd willed it. The earl's magic held its course, daring her to do better. In the last few yards of its travel, she Pushed again. She felt Muir's strength holding its aim true. In the last instant she gave a third Push and watched the head sink in a hair's breadth within the yellow's margin.

"Close brother, oh so close to losing the bout." Wash laughed.

Jessa sighed feeling defeated until Muir whistled a happy note of nonchalance. His mind speech, however, proved how much she had impressed him. _If you can do that, my lady, then I am proud to have you as one of my family,_ Muir stated. Wash only nodded at his brother, knowingly.

"One last arrow. Dare me to miss!" the tall Knight Captain challenged.

Jessa's mind was tired. She had not the energy to try that again, but she was not about to give up on her husband's challenge. She stepped in close beside him. "I dare you to not miss," she whispered in his ear.

She focused as he drew back the bowstring, set his mark, and then… Jessa blew three words across her husband's ear, " _Master Cervus Dulcis_." Her breath was like a butterfly landing soft and tickling upon his cheek.

His arrow shot high, high up over the butt, thumping incomprehensibly into the stone wall. The look on Washburn's face was of astonishment. Jessa backed away, realizing she had just overstepped her bounds. Muir was too shocked to laugh, but a snicker escaped from under his breath. The galleries had gone quite silent.

"Oh!" escaped the young bride's lips. She backed away more, fearing she had done more than lost her husband the match.

Sir Washburn's face creased in disbelief. Never in all his years had that happened before. He failed to realize how his brooding stance, that of a formidable warrior dressed all in black, staring at his fallen arrow, established trepidation in all who watched. The tension across the field was tangible; everyone was holding their breath. This tall man forced a breath, looked up to the sky and then down. A smile formed under his mustache, followed in an instant by uproarious laughter. He turned and stepped to his wife so quickly that she could not retreat. In a full embrace, he swept her up and spun her around, laughing all the while. "What mischief you cause!" he called out. "Wherever did you hear that?"

In the midst of his swing, her veil fell away, her gown flew high, and her breath caught in her throat. She was both elated and terrified in that moment. In no way could she answer him. "Oh, it doesn't matter," he said, dropping her down. His lips met hers, his breath taking her in until she was dizzy and weak in his arms. For a moment they parted, letting her catch her breath, but then he kissed her again lovingly.

With a worthy bow to the Earl of Lendour, the Knight Captain admitted his defeat. "You win fairly, my lord," Wash called out. "But I do believe the prize is all mine." His arm surrounded his wife, and he led her away from the astonished onlookers in the gallery.

* * *

The Great Hall of Castle Cynfyn was full of activity in the afternoon's gathering cold. Clouds were moving in, and with it came the threat of a new winter storm. Those who lived in the outer barracks or the artisan dwellings abandoned those buildings in preference for the warmth and the gathering of people in the great hall. Each new arrival found himself pressed into joining those already in the midst of preparation for the decorations that highlighted the twelve days of celebration about to begin. Tree branches of cedar, oak, and hollyhock lay in huge mounds near the main doors. Men with small hatchets cut branches into sprigs, placing them in baskets for the children to carry. The young boys and girls raced each other, snatching up the baskets, running them haphazardly through the hall, finally delivering them to the women gathered near the center of the room. Boughs, wreaths, and garlands were shaped from the lengths of long, twisted grape vines. Strands of raffia and hemp interwoven tied the greenery to the vines. Red berries and ribbons added a contrast in festive colors. When complete, the decorations were carried to the walls of the hall where men on long ladders were actively hanging them on every possible cross beam and support. Cheerful voices filled the room; many offered their voice to the madrigals that sung of stories from the past. Interludes of harp and lute filled the hall with sound when the voices rested between songs. The hearths were blazing with caldrons of honey-spiced wine, generously poured. It was as if the celebrations had begun a day in advance, and indeed many said this was how the earl liked to spend the afternoon of his Christmas Eve.

Jessa stepped past the grand entrance into the great hall, her hand resting on the strong arm of her Knight Captain. The events of her earlier teasing had been forgiven in intimate conversation after the task of healing and wrapping her fingers was complete. He'd assuaged her guilt by the time she attended noon service. Washburn continued to remain at her side through the service and offered escort back to the festivities growing in the hall. She was blissfully happy until they walked through the throng of residents, who were exchanging sideways smiles and whispered phrases.

"...never seen him miss..."

"... the commander missed?"

"She caused him to…"

"How?"

"Looked like a kiss to me!"

"His arrow may have missed, but Cupid's arrow hit its target straight on!" said one male voice followed by quiet set of female giggles.

Once more, Jessa's guilt over wounding the commander's reputation brought a mournful expression to her face. With regret, she whispered up to his ear, "I am so sorry, my lord. "

Washburn's reaction was instantaneous. With a quick turn of the arm, Washburn had both his hands about her waist, and he was lifting her to stand on a bench nearby. "My Lady Jessamyn, my angel!" called Lendour's commanding knight above the voices in the hall. "I, Knight Captain of Lendour and rogue of the family Cynfyn, do proclaim myself humbled before your beauty and undone by your sweet tongue." Jessa, unsettled, watched him with wide eyes as his arm swept wide and across in a grand gesture of a bow. She blushed, unable to withhold the blossom of a smile that arose to her lips. All eyes were upon her, but her gaze was solely upon the gallant man before her. Wash stood tall and reached for her hand. "Here ye all, for this day, I proclaim Lady Jessamyn slayer of vanity and keeper of my heart."

A cheer arose in the room. "With what word was vanity slain, my lord?" called a strong voice somewhere near the back. Some seemed shocked by the call and others cheered for an answer.

Washburn's eyes widened as he looked up at his lady, daring her to say the words aloud. The young bride ducked her head, ashamed.

"Go on," he encouraged. "They will haunt us until they hear it. It sounds far better from your lips than it would from mine."

She raised her eyes to his and tightened her fingers over his hand. "Master Cervus Dulcis," she whispered. Then with more conviction, answering those who'd not heard, she called out, "My beloved Master Cervus Dulcis!" The air grow tense in its silence, then the older members of the castle cheered; they remembered a time when a boy had been caught in the kitchens some twenty years before on this the very same day. As the story went around the room, many more cheered. Washburn took his wife in his arms and brought her down to the floor with a laugh and a hearty embrace.

"Now, I must endure that name for months to come," Wash whispered with a shake of his head. "Only you, my angel, could cause such a stirring in this staunch mountain land. I take it with pride that my wife can break the lassitude that has too long filled these old halls."

Placing her hand upon his arm, Sir Washburn proudly guided his lady toward the dais and the chairs circling the upper hearth. Here the nobles of the castle mingled beyond the industry of those on the main floor, and here in the Yuletide spirit, they greeted the couple who stepped up into their midst. The Earl called for two goblets of wine, and gestured for his brother to take the offered wine and pass one to his bride, but when they would sip, he shook his head, no. With an eager wave to a page in the corner, Muir could not restrain his mirth as the page approached holding forth a tray ladened with red candied stags on white shield meringues. Wash groaned as he saw them, and Muir gave a hearty laugh.

"Take one and only one, my brother, and I too will take only one." Muir gave a knowing grin, which caused Lord Donneral, who was standing near, to cover his smirk with a cough and a turned head.

"Don't tell me after all these years, you intend to own up to that misadventure," Robert managed to asked of Muir when he'd recovered.

"I?" asked the earl. "I admit to nothing," he replied turning innocently to all who knew a lie when they heard it. "The only thing I will admit to was the reprimand from father who lectured me for hours on my responsibility to those loyal to me." The Earl gave a nod to his friends and family in gratitude. "Pass the deserts around, young Kent. They are a token of my gratitude. Taste the sweet delicacy and learn why they were quickly devoured by four restless boys on this day, twenty years ago." Muir gestured for each person to take up the sugary treat as the pages passed them around the dais. "I offer two toasts before we eat. The first to Robert, Artimus, and Washburn for their years of loyalty, and the second to my brother's new wife. To Jessamyn, whose spirited distraction has allowed me to defeat my brother in archery for the first time... ever...!" As the gathering cheered and sipped their wine, Muir turned to see Jessa shyly blushing, "Nay lady, step before me." He pulled her forward with one hand while raising his goblet to give her a toast with the other. "May you, my sweet sister-in-law, have many sons who will earn wayward titles, like our Master Cervus Delcis, and have many daughters who are as daring as their mother to keep us all honest men!"

"Hear, hear!" answered all around.

As others drank their wine, Wash held up his candied treat and offered it to his wife. She took a bite of the shield and stag, tasting the sweetness of cherry and cream. "To many sons and daughters!" Wash echoed cheerfully to his wife. Then he finished the last of it with a bite and followed it with a swig of wine.

Muir called for a merry tune from Troubadour Harlow, and many joined in the singing of a lively song. Only Lady Elzia seated at Jessa's side seemed to frown at the delicate dessert and shed a tear of sorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Healer's Inheritance**

 **Chapter 5- Christmas Blessing**

985, December 25  
Cynfyn Cathedral  
City of Cynfyn

Nearing midnight, the people of Cynfyn filed through the west doors of the mountain cathedral, anticipating the glory of this night's celebratory Mass. The peaceful gathering crowded together in the warmth of the portico; here they were greeted by the brethren and invited to enter the nave. With this welcome, the people moved inside using either the north or south aisles to fill the public space to its entirety. As Earl Muir and Countess Melina approached, resplendently dressed in their favored red and white, the townspeople deferred to their liege lord with low bows and curtsies. The noble couple smiled to those at hand and accepted the clergy's invitation to enter. Within the long passage of the nave the crowd parted, allowing the earl to walk freely forward to reach the place reserved for himself, his family, and his friends.

Being both family and friend, Sir Washburn followed his brother with his lady at his side. Wash was dressed in his customary black attire, trimmed neatly with scarlet edging. The Lady Jessa, whose cheeks blushed as much from the cold winter night as from her excitement of the pageantry to which she had become a part of, mirrored her husband. Jessamyn was lovely in a scarlet sideless surcoat with black fur trimming both the upper edges and the hem of the garment. Only the glimpse of a white linen bandage on her right hand peeked out from under the scarlet sleeve of her undergown. For those that watched such things, they believed the linen protected fingers that had been blistered earlier in the day. Other friends and family entered the nave behind the recently wedded couple. As honored guest, Baron Jathurn escorted his mother, the Lady Elzia, along with her companion Lady Cecilia. In colors of green and gold, they each added brilliance to the yuletide celebration. Sir Artimus immediately followed in somber blue. His was a tone of midnight contrasting with the joyous spirit of those before him. His eyes were all business as he scanned the crowd. He expected no hostilities here, but he was never one to take his duties lightly. Even on a night such as this.

As Washburn came to his place beside the earl, he turned to watch the others come to their places behind him. There was a moment when Sir Artimus meet the gaze of the lady he escorted by his side. This lady was Arty's sister, she lovingly carried a sweet child in her arms. The lieutenant's face softened to a smile as he lead his sister and niece to a good place behind the countess. The Lady Evelyn was a beautiful women. It had been some time since Wash had seen her beyond the confines of the castle's resident quarters. He gave the lady a smile in greeting and was heartened to see her returned his smile in kind with a pleasant greeting. He hoped she would find her own happiness, just as he had after a loss that was so keenly felt. For a moment, he considered the little girl's father who, sadly, would never meet his dark-haired daughter, at least not in this lifetime. Sigheria had been born just a few days after the tragically widowed Lady Evelyn's frantic ride to escape the invading Torenthi army. That summer, two years back, with no warnings of the invasion, an army led by Imre II swarmed cross the borders into Gwynedd. This horde of Torenthi soldiers were like rabid dogs charging over the northeastern lands, plundering and murdering along the path that would lead them to the capital city of Valoret and ultimately to the throne of Gwynedd. The first to fall in that deadly strike had been the Earldom of Marley. Intoxicated by the ease of his incursion, the Festillic Pretender stormed forward into Eastmarch. The men of Sighere Howell II, the then Earl of Eastmarch, had been outnumbered. Even so, they harried the Torenthi, slowing the rampaging horde to a crawl, giving time for the King of Gwynedd to gather his forces at Grecotha. The cost was high, the Earl of Eastmarch fell, and Imre set the Plains of Iomaire to the torch. A week later, Grecotha was attacked and Gwynedd lost its king. By sheer determination, Gwynedd's forces halted Imre's advance short of its goal, but the devastation was severe. It was two years, costing the lives of two Haldane Kings and countless men, before the Kingdom of Gwynedd would defeat the Pretender at Rengarth and crush him on those very walls. The victory of this war was only a few months in the past, and its price weighed on the minds of many this holy night. The life of Evelyn's husband was not one of the least.

If Evelyn had given birth to a boy, she would have become the Dowager Countess of Eastmarch, and she would have remained regent for her son as he grew to become the new earl. But, since the babe birthed was a girl, the title passed to her oldest brother-in-law. Then when battle stole his life, the succession fell to the youngest of her husband's brothers, Lord Colwyn Howell, the current Earl of Eastmarch. With her home burnt to the ground and this avaricious young Howell looking to gain a name for himself both on the battlefield and off, Lady Evelyn had nowhere to go but to request protection from her brother, far from her husband's lands.

Sir Artimus responded as an honorable brother would, racing to his sister's side even in the midst of war to escort her and her newborn babe to Lendour. Here he left her in the care of his liege lord's lady, Countess Melina, before returning to Earl Muir's side in battle. With the war finally over, Sir Artimus was able to enjoy the company of his sister and his niece, whose eyes at the moment were wide at the sights and sounds echoing across the vaulted ceiling of the cathedral. The widowed Countess Evelyn and her sweet daughter, Lady Sigheria were all the family Arty had left. He was very protective of them. Wash was happy to witness his lieutenant's rarely seen soft side. Arty was a good man, loyal, courageous, and his brother's closest friend. It was a friendship that the Earl of Lendour's younger brother respected and shared.

Other notable members of the earldom filled the remainder of the floor reserved at the front of the nave. Robert, Baron of Donneral, escorted his mother on one hand and his wife on the other. His abundant children followed their father; their joy of being allowed to attend was evident on their faces. Robert's eldest son, though, was not standing with his family; he instead was dressed in Cynfyn livery and stood in attendance to the earl. The baron briefly nodded his pride and approval when his glance met with his eldest son's. Robby stood a little taller after his father's nod.

The Knight Captain got the mental cue from Arty that all was well, but still he did a survey of the populace in attendance on this cold, glorious night. Extending his mental energy, Sir Washburn made a full sweep of the nave. He marked the stance of his men and their positions, and the general mood of the crowd. Tonight there was little concern. The people were respectful, even as they pushed close for warmth to place the draft from the open doors well above their heads. When the nave had filled and the doors closed, the artistic wood walls and marble pillars radiated the glow of the hundred burning candles placed upon the iron chandeliers hanging overhead. The overall feeling of the evening was joyful. It was Christmastide, a time of peace, longingly welcomed after a horrid war. The cold of the winter was forgotten, and the glory of life was remembered and revered.

"The gathering is greater than I would have thought due to the incoming storm," Wash said in an aside to his earl. "All appears to be in order," he finished, before easing his stance between the two lovely ladies of Cynfyn. Muir nodded acknowledgement, returning to his quiet conversation with his wife. Wash enclosed Jessa's hand in his, surprised by the tension he felt in her fingers. Lady Jessa whispered one last entreaty to her mother, which gained her nothing but the dowager baroness's steadfast refusal to admit that anything was out of the ordinary. Jessa's fingers clenched within Wash's hand, proving her frustration. She gave up, turning away from her mother, and snuggled closer to her husband for comfort.

"What was that about?" he whispered.

"I wish that I knew," his wife replied with a sigh. Baffled, Wash looked over at Lady Elzia, but the dowager baroness would not meet his eyes. Later, he determined, he would have to discern what the upset was about.

A muted squeal receding to a silent sob stole the attention of all those who stood near. Perturbed by the sound, many turned to see a younger daughter of Lord Donneral holding her kirtle high, away from a black hairy mass that moved toward her feet. The thing with appendages, more than eight, twisted awkwardly as it skidded to a stop beside her shoe. A slightly older brother giggled at the mischief, even as the second oldest brother leaped to his sister's aid. He picked her up in gallant rescue and then stomped his boot on the thing. Valiantly he bent down to clutch it between two fingers, to reveal a tangle of smashed twigs and moss. The poor girl whimpered as much from the scare as from the unwanted attention she had gained. In reassurance, Lady Lisa came to her granddaughter's aid, while Baroness Donneral admonished her middle son with a harsh whisper.

Some adults scowled at the children's antics, but Wash was more amused than annoyed. It was for the love of children and family that so many men went to war to defend their kingdom from the oppression of the enemy. Wash was no exception; for those close to him, he would give his all. On this Christmas Eve, in the celebration of the Lord's birth, Washburn's thoughts turned to the young ones that he so cared for: his newborn nephew, his friend's young niece, and the sometimes unruly children of Baron Donneral. He looked down at his bride whose cheeks seemed to glow as she too watched the children around her. Children seemed to touch a place in her heart, one of so many traits that caused him to love her. With her in his arms, he could easily imagine a pack of sons and daughters at his feet and the ruckus they would cause.

It seemed Baron Donneral was unperturbed by his children's antics. His wife seemed to have them well in hand. Instead, he continued his conversation with Sir Artimus, commenting perhaps a bit too loudly on the condition of the road coming up from the lower valley. "I was glad we made the journey at noon. I hear a devil of a storm is starting to brew and wind swept ice is clotting the roads."

"Shush, Robert, remember where you stand," Lady Lisa interjected in a whisper even as she motioned to the vaulted ceiling that could echo all sound. But then she smiled, leaning toward her granddaughters. "Girls, the morning will be breathtaking," she proclaimed, sharing her joy. "The trees will be glittering with white crystals of ice, and the ground will be blanketed in snow. A gift from our Lord on this Christmas morning!"

"Presents too, grandmamma?" the youngest grandson asked. "We get a present in the morning, Robby said so!"

Lady Lisa ruffled the boy's hair. "Aye, Shane. Your grandfather loved to give one present early in promise of the gifts to come on Twelfth Night. You can be certain your father will continue that tradition. When your father was your age, I remember him being just as eager to receive his gifts as you are. But you must be good and attentive tonight; all of you!" she said to all the children, adding a stern glare toward Lenny, her mischievous middle grandson. The exuberant yet remarkably quiet children caused even the earl to smile under his hand.

The bells in the Cathedral towers rang in vibrant succession. Midnight had arrived and all turned to give their reverence to the Mass. The clergy in practiced unison walked through the people who parted to allow the procession along the center of the nave. The chant of male voices echoed across the ceiling with the words of blessing for the start of this most glorious day of days. With each step the thurible swung from side to side, censing the path with the aroma of frankincense and myrrh. Breathing the incenses elicited a calmness in all those who stood witness as the procession moved solemnly toward the base of the altar beyond the transept. Before the Tabernacle, each clergyman genuflected with respect before finding his place at either side. The Christmas Mass was begun. Bishop Michael, the celebrant of this night, was among the last to approach. He knelt in solemn prayer before the altar. When he stood, the gold work embroidery of his chasuble and stole glistened in the candlelight. In a voice deep and full, he called forth the ageless prayers of the Mass for this celebratory night.

 _"In nómine Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti. Amen,"_ called the clergymen before the Tabernacle. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 _"Amen,"_ responded the people standing within the Cathedral.  
 _  
"Introibo ad altare Dei,"_ the bishop chanted in a vibrant baritone. I will go in to the altar of God.

The servers attending the Bishop answered in unison. _"Ad Deum qui laetificat jeventutem meam..."_ To God, Who giveth joy to my youth...

Like a dance choreographed in slow motion, the bishop and his servers reverently censed the altar, moving from one side then to the other in the long-formed traditions of time.

The words of the prayer filled the vaults of the Cathedral. All who stood here, even the children, felt a calm surround them and a soothing of their souls. Holding Jessa's hand, Wash opened his senses and let his thoughts caress the shields of his bride. She let her shields drop away, sharing with him her joy of the moment. Being newly released from the convent, the passages were a part of her being, but never before had she stood on the outside and seen the grandness of the rite performed in a Cathedral of this magnificence. He cherished this feeling that she shared and let himself be guided by her joy.

The choir stilled as the prayers settled over the people. Bishop Michael moved to stand before the Missal that lay closed upon the altar. With reverence, he opened the Book to the page marked by a worn red ribbon and began the chant that was the glory of the Midnight Mass.

 _"Dominus vobiscum…"_ The Lord be with you...

 _"Et cum spiritu tuo..."_ the people responded. And with thy spirit...

A blur in the center of Washburn's vision seemed to impose itself over the main celebrant.

 _"Oremus..."_ called the reverent chanting voice of Bishop Michael. Let us pray...

A pale light shone at Bishop Michael's back. An aura of silver brightened the Bishop's white vestments. Confused at first, knowing the Bishop to be human, Washburn concentrated on the light and watched it form into a figure of a man. This ghostly man stepped back from the tabernacle. He turned to face the people, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. His clerical vestments shone in silvery illumination demonstrating an unrestrained moment of pure joy. Here was the mystical presence that Wash had seen in the etchings of his mother's prayer book.

 _"Deus, qui hanc sacratíssimam noctem veri lúminis fecísti illustratióne claréscere: da, quæsumus, ut cujus lucis mystéria in terra cognóvimus, ejus quoque gáudis in coelo perfruámur. Qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitáte Spíritus Sancti, Deus..."_ Grant us, we beseech Thee, almighty God, that we on whom the new light of Thy Incarnate Word is poured, may show forth in our works that brightness which now doth illuminate our minds by faith. Through the same Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God...

With otherworldly awareness, Washburn knew he saw, as his wife saw, another who performed the Mass. This spiritual essence mirrored the motions of Bishop Michael and mouthed the phrases in the same rhythm, though Wash noted how the movements of this kindred spirit flowed with a formality that was more likely to be witnessed in the great Cathedral of Rhemuth. Yet as he watched, this saintly Deryni performed the rites with an intimate passion showing that God was everywhere—all around—not just at the Tabernacle behind him. The feeling was enthralling, as if there were no other in this place of worship but thyself and the essence of Saint Camber who offered up worship to the Lord. Wash felt Jessa's elation; she was sensitive to this presence who gave prayer to the Heavens. She prayed with him. For Jessa, this essence was more than a spiritual role model, he was her connection to her past. He'd been the spirit of her hope that one day she would find her family and be made whole. On this night, her hopes were fully realized. The tears streamed over her cheeks as she reached for her mother's hand on one side and squeezed her husband's hand on the other. Both Wash and Elzia looked past the woman at each other with mutual resolve to see to her care.

 _"Per omnia saecula saeculorum..."_ World without end...

 _Amen..._

As the prayer ended, the apparition of Saint Camber broadcast the warmest of smiles before fading behind Bishop Michael. Wash nodded in acceptance of the magic he could not begin to understand. It did not matter, faith was not always about the tangible. Jessa stood up on her tip toes, kissed her husband's cheek, and then ducked her head into his shoulder. With a kiss on her brow, Wash noticed how Baron Jathurn, sitting the other side of his mother, was staunchly holding back his reaction to the sighting. At the end of the prayer, Elzia had been in rapport with both her children and had witnessed the Saint from both of their views. Her joy was not as easily concealed as that of her son's. She firmly held both her children's' hands, knowing the descendants of Saint Camber were blessed with this spiritual grace that others could never imagine.

Wash enjoyed the tranquility that filled his lady as the Mass continued on. From the choir, the harmony of men's voices reverberated through the vaulted ceiling, and Jessa closed her eyes to take in the fullness of the sound. Wash mimicked his wife, surrounding himself in her joy. At the crescendo of the music, his senses fully open, filled with the elation of uplifted voices—

—a desperate cry for help shattered the elation. Instantly tense, Wash cast outward to hear the clatter of horse hooves beyond the west doors and the call from a man out in the cold. He sensed no danger in the sound; here instead was pain and suffering. Casting further, he saw with his mind's eye the man and boy at the head of a wagon, anxiously encouraging their horse over the iced cobblestones and into the cathedral's square. A woman just behind the driver was crying "Help us!" between sobs of anguish. Washburn was already signaling his men toward the doors when he sensed the lad slip from the wagon and trip up the Cathedral steps to the portico.

A cold wind cut across the candles above as the doors opened. Many looked around, upset at the intruding cold. One of Washburn's men held up the boy as he tried to ask for help. A quick nod from him, and a Lendour guard turned to the south aisle to find the surgeon, Rubin. A second guard came around the crowd toward his commander. At a nod from Muir, Wash left his place and intercepted the guard coming toward him along the north wall.

"Injured, from the Mollingford Road, my lord. First of three wagons arriving," the guard whispered in report to his commander.

"Go to the infirmary. Have them prepare. I'll see the injured are sent there." At Washburn's quiet order, the man slipped quickly back through the crowd. Wash caught the attention of a choir boy and gave him a message to tell to Father Pernal. The physician priest stood at the back of the choir. Since he did not have a central part in the Mass, it did not take much for him to bow out of line from his brethren, nod to Washburn that he understood the choir boy's message, and disappeared through the sacristy door.

Wash's gaze fell on Jessa for just a moment. Her eyes were wide as she watched him. Did he need her? He shook his head, no. _Let me assess what is happening,_ his mind spoke, even as his long strides led him away from her to the west doors.

In the square, the wind was churning. Harsh bits of ice stung his face and hands as it swirled in the darkness. The rouncey pulling the wagon toward the light shining from the open cathedral doors had ice across his neck and chest; the horse puffed steam out of his nostrils like a dragon in old stories. As the bay came further into the light, he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. The man at the reins peered out through a fur hood. Half his face was blackened with dried blood. One eye was swollen shut with a clump of red ice hiding an open wound. To the men coming down the cathedral steps, the look of the horse and the driver was one of desperation and need.

Pacing to the side of the rouncey, Wash reached out a hand to steady the poor animal. When he looked up at the driver, he recognized the man as his tenant from Llywn Village. "Farmer Kent, what happened here?"

"It was at Ran's Ravine, my lord. Two wagons slipped from the road and tumbled down the iced banks toward the river." The driver voice was gruff and shook in the cold. "My cousin and his family are injured. I've rushed them here as fast as I dared on the frozen road. Two other wagons in our group were loading the rest of the injured as I left. They should be behind me soon."

Wash stepped to the side-board and found a man lying bundled under fur blankets iced over. The man was unmoving; only his harsh breathing could be heard. A woman sat beside him, clutching a bloodied boy close to her chest. "Take them there, to the south side door," ordered the commander, pointing to a door just opening in the side building where a nun holding a lantern high was beckoning the wagon to come forward. The rouncey grunted at the slap of the reins, but nonetheless moved forward toward the infirmary. Wash turned to his men, ordering four of them to mount up and find the other wagons on the west road. He called for other men to join him, to follow the wagon toward the infirmary. Strong arms would be needed to carry the wounded inside.

Without pausing in his stride, Wash sent a mental call to Lord Muir. _Tenants from Llywn Village had an accident on their way here. Five injured, more to come. Have Sir Artimus escort Lady Jessa to the infirmary. It's Christmas Eve, I would not wish to see death taint this night._  
 _  
She is on her way,_ Muir replied. _Am I needed?_

 _When the Mass is done, perhaps. At the moment, I have it in hand._

Wash indicated three men to lift Kent's wounded cousin from the wagon. The injured man cried out as they shifted his shoulders. Halting his men, Wash reached over the wagon's side. His hands briefly covered the wounded man's brow, instilling a compulsion for sleep. The cousin's thrashing eased and he fell quiet. When the men of Cynfyn moved him again without his calling out, the woman beside him began to shriek, thinking her husband had succumbed to death. Wash waved his men on. Best to get everyone out of this cold as quick as possible. He held back the hysterical woman who'd have stumbled out of the cart after her husband if she could have managed it with her child held tight in her arms.

"Have you injuries?" Wash asked, attempting to draw her attention from her husband. His hand touched hers and she pulled away. "Come, let me help you," he added in a soothing tone.

"My boy... his legs!" she managed to say between sobs.

"I have you both," Wash replied, conveying reassurance through his touch on her hand in hopes of winning her trust. He hoped he did not need to be more persuasive than this. He was relieved when she willingly accepted his help. After that, Wash was able to lift her and the boy off the wagon's edge and carry them into the side building complex. It was time to get out of this cold storm.

The infirmary off the colonnade was already showing activity. Brothers moved from the first warming hearth to rekindle the second, adding heat to the chilled room. One by one the lanterns were lit and the room brightened for working. After hastily donning a linen apron to protect his festive attire, battle surgeon Rubin was examining the wounds of the cousin who was laid out upon the work table. Rubin's glance toward Lord Washburn proved the surgeon was ill pleased by his assessment of the patient's condition.

"Do what you can," Wash told him as he passed. He carried the woman and her boy to a cot nearest the hearth, where he set them both down with care. He called Father Pernal over to elicit help in getting the mother to release her wounded son, but to no avail. It was Sister Vivian who succeeded where neither man could. Her soft voice and caring touch convinced the mother to let her boy go. In Sister Vivian's arms the woman cried, her vision too blurred by tears to see Father Pernal and Lord Washburn lay the boy upon the next cot over.

After assuring himself that the son slept through the physician's caring, Wash looked up as others entered the room. Farmer Kent was brought in to sit by the second hearth, and his boy who had been the one to enter the Cathedral was seated by his side. Both were being seen to by the brethren who had retired early from the Christmas Mass.

A minute or two had passed when Sir Artimus entered with two women on his heels. Lady Lisa was behind, but it was Lady Jessa who was anxiously pushing at the lieutenant's arm to hurry within.

 _Jessa, wait!_ Washburn warned. Jessa must not have heard him, for she was intent on reaching the wounded man's side.

 _Arty, hold her back before she gives herself away!_ Wash commanded.

In quick response, the lieutenant stretched his arm out, blocking the commander's wife from advancing further into the room. Arty gave her a stern look, to which Jessa bristled with defiance; for her, all that mattered were the needs of these injured people within the room. When Arty did not relent, she looked over at her husband, pleading her desire.

 _Listen to me, Jessa! You need to think this through very seriously. You must be discreet. Let Rubin assess the man's wounds and clean what he can. No one who doesn't already know that you're Deryni should discover that truth this night._ He watched his wife take in a sharp breath and then purposely calm the tension in her clenched hands. After a moment she nodded acceptance to his terms, after which Wash nodded to Arty that he could trust her to work with care.

Unobtrusively, with some hesitation, the healer stepped to the head of the wounded cousin. Rubin only spared her a curious glance before he remembered she had been a midwife of the convent. Even so, he seemed displeased to have her near. A noblewoman should not have the stomach for the blood and rent flesh of arm and chest where a wagon had crushed the man as it rolled. The wide eyes of Lady Lisa proved that to be so. Arty stepped forward, purposely blocking Rubin's vision of the younger noblewoman. He offered his abilities, a distraction from Jessa's true purpose. Rubin knew the lieutenant's secret talents and gladly accepted his aid. In circumstances such as these, Deryni abilities were an opportune benefit. The battle surgeon did not think twice as Arty took a white bandage from the basket and pressed it to the man's bloodied forehead, using that as an excuse for his hands to cup the wounded man's head. With a moment of focus, Sir Artimus reinforced Lord Washburn's earlier compulsion to have the man sleep through the pain. Without drawing attention, Arty motioned Jessa to hold the bandage firmly while he and Rubin leaned over to remove the bloodied clothes from the crushed shoulder.

Jessa was where she needed to be without anyone taking notice. She ducked her head low, letting her veil slide forward, hiding the sides of her face. Few if any could see her clutch the medallion in her left hand and slip into Healing trance, her power already working to heal the head wound under the cloth she held with her right fingers. Fingers surprisingly whole and free from the bandage she'd just shrugged off. She was sure no one here would notice such a detail, a detail even Wash was not aware of. From across the room, he nodded his approval of her approach. The Healer would take it slow, she was in control, and would use her gift after the physician had cleaned each wound and had seen to its bandaging. The Healer used Arty's presence to stabilize the power drain. As often as not, when Rubin later thought on it, it seemed it was Arty's hand that always completed the bandaging, using the assistance of the noblewoman to hold the cloth as he dressed the wounds. The lady was barely noticed throughout the ordeal. Wash was pleased at the way the two Deryni managed to work the deception.

Wash stayed at the boy's side. Father Pernal had undone the clothes covering the bloodied mess of the child's legs. Wash kept the five year old in deep sleep as Pernal probed the wounds. The wounds were not as severe as first thought, but the angle of one ankle gave no doubt as to its break. Far worse was the boy's shock. Wash dared not leave his side, fearing that the combination of pain and frostbite would take its toll. He would do his best to stabilize the child and let Father Pernal clean the injuries while waiting for the true Healer to save the father and then come to the aid of the son.

The talent of Healing was seen so rarely that none in the infirmary who did not know of the one with that gift were even suspicious that such a talent had been used. Farmer Kent's cousin was left to sleep soundly under bandages and blankets on a near cot. Rubin had moved over to Kent's side to clean his wounds and that of his boy's. Jessa took the moment to stand against the wall, regaining her energies after her deeply focused working. Her husband sent his gratitude and concern for her fatigue. Her mental reply was of reassurance. Just a moment more and she would be with him to help the boy.

Straightening her back with a small stretch, Jessa looked around to find Lady Lisa standing at her side. "I wonder where I could find a cup to drink from?" she asked the dowager in a barely audible whisper. Lisa must not have heard her, for the older lady seemed intent on staring at the younger lady's hands. A man of the cloth passed by and Jessa caught his attention. "Beg pardon, but do you have any refreshment? I am feeling a bit chilled." The monk nodded and turned to the hearth, returning with a mug of crushed mentha steeped in hot water.

"A tisane is best for these cold nights. Perhaps you should move away from the doors and closer to the fire, my lady," the monk said as he offered her the cup. There was comfort in the steamy aroma that arose from the surface of the tisane.

For a moment Jessa held the cup close to her face, letting the warmth touch her cheeks. She took several sips before passing the cup on to Lady Lisa. Lisa took the drink with a smile, but as her hand passed over Jessa's, the older woman purposely brushed her fingers across the other's unblemished youthful skin. Jessa's thoughts were centered on making her way across the room while bringing as little attention to herself as possible, therefore she did not see the queer look on the dowager's face, nor notice the frown that seemed to follow her through the rest of the night.

The young bride focused on the heraldry of her husband's cloak and walked the length of the room with no other seeming purpose than to be at her husband's side. As Jessa came to stand by the Knight Captain, she was distracted by the fretful sobs of the mother calling the names of her own husband and son. The woman grabbed at Jessa's arm, managing a coherent question between her fervent sobs and prayers. "Jon, my Jon, how is he?"

Jessa stepped over to Sister Vivian, her longtime mentor, and leaned down to the mother in an attempt to calm the woman's hysteria. "The surgeon has seen to Jon. He is sleeping comfortably over there, see?" Jessa pointed to the man on the cot, but there was little to see that was not wrapped in white bandages. His wife only cried all the more. Due to this upset, Sister Vivian was finding it hard to clean the cuts on the woman's face.

True concern touched Jessa's heart. She knelt at the woman's knee with hope that her own calm demeanor and authority would break the woman's crying. "Mistress Franne, I am Lady Jessamyn. You attended my wedding. Do you remember?" Jessa's voice was so soothing. "Be assured that Rubin did a fine job of caring for your husband, I am sure he will be well in good time." She caught the woman's attention; finally Franne's ramblings stilled. "And Father Pernal is caring for your son, see? I am certain he will be well, too. Trust in Sister Vivian, she will tend to your needs. Can you do that?" Jessa's reassurances seemed to help. Franne nodded with a shiver as she allowed the nun to clean her face.

As Sister Vivian worked, she started a long familiar prayer which she invited the mother of the boy to say with her. As Franne repeated the prayer in earnest with her eyes closed, Jessa leaned closer. She placed her fingers on the cut and mended the flesh under her palm. Satisfied, she moved away quickly, letting Vivian continue to remove the clotted blood from the skin. When the prayer was done, Franne opened her eyes to stare at the nun, knowing something wonderful had just occurred, but never knowing the noblewoman in the festive gown had anything to do with it.

A bit tired, Jessa slipped down to kneel at her husband's side. She leaned on the knee of her gallant knight, seemingly seeking his comfort as she gazed at the sight before her. Showing concern, her hand reached across to touch the boy. Father Pernal gave her a nod, accepting the gift he knew she was capable of giving. The healing was slow and draining. Her touch was limited. With so many others in and out of the room watching, she dared not put her hands directly upon the wounds. She could manage. The healing wasn't urgent, there was time to take it slow. The worst part was sensing Wash and Pernal straighten the ankle before she could mend it. She felt faint, thinking how no child should suffer so. But then Wash was beside her. His endless pool of energy bolstering her reserve. After a moment to steady her focus, she was able to Heal the break cleanly.

The boy, like his father, was sleeping under bandages and blankets when the sound of the two remaining wagons finally approached the cathedral square. The Knight Captain stood at once, taking charge again as he called his men to come with him out into the storm. Nearly everyone moved to the door to see what had delayed the villagers. Even Sister Vivian left to gather new supplies of bandages and medicine from the pantry across the room.

Exhausted, Jessa rested her head down on the cot next to the boy. Her hand still rested on his forehead, making sure that he would sleep until morning. His mother climbed from her cot and came to kneel at her boy's side. She nodded with a sudden reassured smile. Did she sense the wellness of her own child under the blankets? With her whispered words, Jessa was both shocked and amazed by what the mother said.

"My Lord from above, thank you for sending a Healer in my desperate time of need. I am beyond grateful for your saving the lives of my family. Keep your daughter within the Cathedral's house safe and loved. Sister Vivian is your hand on this earth and I praise her. She may never know the love between a mother and a child, which saddens my heart, but as long as she has Your love that will be enough."

Jessa whispered "Amen" to Franne's prayer.

As if seeing the noblewoman for the first time, the mother looked across at Jessa. "You know what I mean about a mother's love, don't you?"

Jessa shook her head. "I've not yet known that pleasure, but soon, I hope," she replied.

Franne nodded in appreciation. "When your first child comes, you will understand. But the Healer, she will never know what it means to be a mother."

"That is the gift a woman forgoes when she enters the convent and gives her love to God," Jessa replied, a little taken back by the woman's comment.

"Didn't she tell you, women Healers take the veil because they are barren from birth. They know their womb will not carry a babe, so they turn to other means to please God. Sister Vivian is a Healer; I had felt a healer's touch when I was a child, it was the same as I just felt this night. It gladdens my heart to know such gifts still survive in this world, but saddens me at the same time that she who has this gift can never give birth and know the love a mother gives to her child."

The mother leaned over and gathered her son in her arms, and then climbed onto the cot beside him. Stunned, Jessa watched her, confused. How could such a thing be true? No one had ever said such words to her before. She stood and turned away from the mother and boy. She stumbled to the hearth and stared into the fire's depths. There was truth in the words she had heard. She may have wrongly believed which person had Healed her, but Franne knew a fact about Healers that Jessa would never have imagined. Jessa may have been only married three weeks, but her flow had come after the second week, and she knew she was not yet with child. So many woman had teased her, saying that they had begotten their first child on their wedding night. Her failure to meet that expectation had certainly not been due to lack of enthusiasm on either of the newlyweds' part. Surely the woman was human and could not have known such a fact about Deryni. Surely Jessa's marriage was too new to make such a claim that she would be barren and never give Washburn Cynfyn, brother to the Earl of Lendour, the children that his position demanded and his heart desired.

Jessa would have run and cried then but for the men who entered the infirmary with fresh injured villagers in their arms. None so desperate as the father and son, but six more people appeared bloodied and falling into shock from the long, cold drive to reach the Cynfyn Cathedral in the storm. Jessa shook off her fears. They could not be true. She would not believe. She would see to the injured, do what her gift allowed her to do, and then she would give Wash his sons. Her need to love a child was nearly as great as her need to love the man she had chosen to be her children's father.

The night of Christmas Eve passed with the young noblewoman of Cynfyn giving her caring heart to tend to the villagers of Llywn. She was one of many, and few questioned her continued presence within the infirmary. By the time Christmas dawn arrived, the young woman's head lolled on her shoulders, and her eyes stared vacantly at the light permeating the east windows. She hid behind her veil. No one would see the circles under her puffy, red eyes or the pale grey tone of her cheeks bordering the fatigue in her faint smile. No one had the authority to tell her to leave off and find her bed. Her husband had left her for a time while he took care of things with the bishop. Lady Lisa, who should have been at her side, watched the young woman with unaccustomed anxiety from across the room before Lord Robert, her son, took her home in the early hours.

It fell to Washburn when he returned to the infirmary to raise his wife from the young boy's side and lead her away from the many people she had Healed and who still unknowing of her gift slept peacefully and well within the room. A carriage awaited the noble couple in the Cathedral Square. Wash picked up his wife, who seemed strangely hollow, and carried her within, placing her beside him with his cloak about her shoulders. It was time they were home.

As the light illuminated the fresh, snowbound world on Christmas Day and the wounded villagers woke refreshed and unharmed, all commented on the miracle of the night. Rubin secretly would later comment to Lord Muir how grateful he was for Sir Artimus's talent and heretofore unrealized Healing ability. The village woman Franne, both mother and wife, would privately tell her closest friend how a nun of the Church had the gift of Healing in her hands. The rumor would spread slowly, but it eventually would reach Father Pernal, much to his chagrin. Another rumor spread, saying an angel had come to earth that night and blessed the sick with his healing. To many in the City of Cynfyn, the tales of that Christmas Eve would pass from person to person. Some did not believe the injuries had ever existed, and some praised the Holy Spirit for His intervention. In none of these tales was the presence of a lady from the castle mentioned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Healer's Inheritance **

**Chapter 6- What the Future Holds**

The young noblewoman stood fidgety and scared within the guests' solar, waiting for her mother to return from Christmas breakfast. Her appearance was disheveled. In the need for answers, she had donned a robe and loosely pinned a veil over her mussed hair so as to escape her own rooms before her handmaids returned. They needn't see the tension that kept her from sleep. As Jessa stood before the high windows of the solar, she began to regret her rash action. The glass panes had become frosted from the night storm allowing a dismal grey light to shadow the floor. Shadows that seemed to harbor the coldness that she felt penetrate through to her bones.

Tralian retainers came and went, but none dared approach. A group of Tralian men passed through the room, intent on their own business. They looked at the Knight Captain's wife with curiosity, but they too left her alone. The guest rooms this morning weren't the quiet place of contemplation that they had been in the winter afternoons. It was Christmas Day. Between the feasting and celebrating, the Tralians prepared for their soon approaching departure for home. The holiday morning had begun with a banquet, and in the coming evening a great feast with music, entertainment, and dancing was to commence, bringing all the castle residents in under the festive decorations in the Great Hall. The late morning was the only time left for the Tralian contingent to make ready for their following day's travel.

Just as Jessa regretted her decision to come here and was considering that sleep might indeed be a better answer to the agitation growing inside, she felt her mother enter the room. She hadn't even turned from the window before her mother's voice called out.

"Cara Mia, what are you doing here? Sir Washburn said he left you to sleep only an hour ago. You should be there still." The Lady Elzia stepped to her daughter's side and gave her a hug with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "I heard of the gift you gave last eve; you are a good woman. I know the energy it takes; you really should get your rest, it is deserved."

"Baroness… mama… I… I cannot sleep." Jessa hesitated, searching her mother's eyes as she spoke. "I have been told something— I must know if it is true." A cold apprehension tensed the young woman's face. She bit her lip, ducked her head, and stepped away from her mother. Her voice caught in her throat, afraid to ask the question for fear of what the answer might be.

Concerned, the Baroness stepped closer even as her daughter ducked away. "What is it, Jessa-mia, what has you so roused?"

"Not here," Jessa replied uncomfortably. She eyed the entrance where another group of men walked inside to gather up their belongings. "Can we find a more private place?"

Lady Elzia sensed the edge in her daughter's voice. With a hesitant hand, she gestured toward an adjoining door, then walked past that door, through a room where the baron and his men had stayed, and then to the next door beyond. This second door opened to reveal Lady Elzia's sleeping room. The room that they entered was large; large enough for royalty. The bed was cornered with four carved posts holding a canopy of thick brocade in crimson and gold. The matching bed cover was stuffed with down which puffed up around the gowns that were laid out for packing. The handmaid in the room was busy folding each gown neatly into the trunk standing open near the foot of the bed. At a nod from Lady Elzia the handmaid withdrew, leaving the mother and daughter alone. Elzia flared the embers in the hearth back to flames with a wave of her hand. Her mama missed the shiver that passed down her daughter's spine, and she didn't catch the tremble in Jessa's voice as she nervously commented, "I should learn to do that sometime." Her fear of fire had kept her at a distance from such magic.

"I will happily teach the spell to you as would anyone else in this house, but I don't think that is what has gotten you out of bed when you should be asleep. Jessamyn, please, you have circles under your eyes! And who dressed you this morning? Come here, child, let me see what I can do." Her mother gestured for her to settle before the mirror at the vanity. When Jessa had sat, Elzia removed her daughter's veil and began brushing the tangles from her silken hair. "You have servants to see you properly dressed. They will keep your hair brushed, at the very least. Why will you not let them do their job?" her mother scolded, not understanding Jessa's desire to be self-sufficient. "You're a noblewoman, as you were from birth. Don't be ashamed to let others help you. You help other people aplenty. There is no wrong in accepting their service." As she brushed her daughter's hair, she smiled in remembrance of a time long ago. "Do you recall your nanny, Gisele? She claimed she could plait your hair and you would have it in knots an hour later. I believe you did it purposely, hmm, so that it would be I who had to give your hair a final brushing. Just like now."

Jessa turned away from the image in the mirror. She did not want to see the woman staring back. With caring hands brushing her hair, Jessa closed her eyes and she was transported to an earlier time. A time when all that existed in the world was a close family. In her dream, the face that looked back at her in the mirror belonged to that six year old, the one that had not yet survived the fire, nor been kidnapped, nor had witnessed her papa's death. With eyes closed she was safe and innocent, loved by her mother who brushed her hair. Reliving the fleeting emotions of a time remembered, Jessa was consoled by the happiness of the past. How fragile happiness was! So hard to achieve yet so easy to lose. Just as then, in these last few weeks she had felt safe and happy; her every dream had come to life. But just as before, the threat of losing it all was near. Did she dare to ask the truth? The answer was certain, it just needed confirmation. Confirmation that her desires were unachievable and her dream was about to collapse in upon itself.

With her mother watching her intently, Jessa gathered what courage she had like a mantle upon her shoulders. "Mama," she began, her eyes on the hem of her mother's gown. "Do you remember that Twelfth Night, the one where Orleta got the baby doll and I asked for one too?" She did not respond to the quizzical look that crossed her mother's face. "It was a long time ago, in a different life; I don't even remember how old I was. I had forgotten all about it... until... I remember how sad Papa had become when I asked where my doll had gone. I thought he had lost her. Then he went outside for a long while. When he returned, he held a kitten in his hands." Jessa looked into the mirror, searching the face of the woman who stood behind her. "Do you remember that ginger kitten?"

"You named her Rhysa, did you not?"

"Yes." Jessa smiled faintly. But then she bit her lower lip, holding back the sob threatening to overwhelm her. "When Papa gave me Rhysa, he told me that to care for the living was my gift. I thought that made my purring pet better than Orleta's wooden doll. I had bragged about my Rhysa, as a little sister might, thinking she had one up on her older sibling. Only my sister had to make certain that I knew that her gift was better. She yelled at me that I wasn't allowed to have a doll because I could never be a mother and therefore shouldn't pretend by playing with dolls." Jessa stopped. Her mother took in a sharp breath. Elzia's hand, in the middle of sweeping down the length of her daughter's hair, had ceased its motion. "I thought Orleta was just being cruel. But she wasn't, was she? She was telling the truth."

"Orleta said that to you?" her mother said so quietly that Jessa could barely hear her. "She shouldn't have."

The child of six was gone from the mirror; the eighteen year old looked at her own bloodshot eyes and at the sad expression on her mother's face seen in the mirror. "I had not remembered my sister's words until last night, after a complete stranger told me the same thing. A thing that my family knew, but that I did not."

"Last night?" Elzia came around to lean over her daughter, worry in her eyes. "Tell me, who was this stranger, and what exactly did they say?"

"Franne, the mother of the child that I Healed, she thought Sister Vivian was the Healer and she said to me in private that it was sad that Healers, at least women Healers, were barren and could not give birth to children, nor would they understand the love a mother has for her child." Jessa blurted out the words, terrified of them. "Is it true?" she asked, holding back tears, searching her mother's face for any hope that it was not.

Elzia tried to speak; the words wouldn't come out. She sniffed, then looked at the brush in her hand. She gulped hard before confessing the truth. "Your papa and I, we never hid it from you. We wanted you to know early and grow up accepting the gifts and limitations that women of your talent must bear." Elzia sat down on the edge of the bed. "Six was just too young to understand. We thought we had time to let the notion sink in, so that when your friends were marrying, you would look to your gifts and find meaning in them…"

"Then it is true…" The silence prevailed with breath held, until the Baroness bit her lip and nodded it was so.

Jessa's face contorted; she forced back the tears. Withheld grief and anger swelled in her breast. "You knew! You consented to my marriage when you knew?" She stood up, every muscle tense, facing her mother straight on. "How could you consent? You should have told me, told him, told the earl, told the bishop! Someone should have stopped the wedding and kept me from destroying the future of a great man."

"But you love him! He loves you! I saw it that first day."

"Yes, I love Wash! I love him so much that I would have gratefully stayed his servant for the rest of my days and let him marry a real woman who could give him real sons."

"You are a real woman," her mama admonished.

"No, mother, I'm not. I'm barren! You just said so. I'm worthless as a wife! I'd make a much better courtesan!"

"No, child!" The baroness reached for her daughter's wrist, attempting to create rapport; she brushed up against shields held firmly against her. Lady Elzia stood her place. "You are my daughter, Jacuth's daughter, Tieg's granddaughter, and a granddaughter of the house of Horthy. You are a Healer and you are now a wife. Till death do you part, you are Sir Washburn's wife, nothing less will wrest you apart."

"And the sons that I dreamt of? That he's dreamt of? What of that part which comes with the promise of marriage? I am a lie! Have I any choice, other than to die to free him to beget a legitimate son?"

"Good Lord, child, don't ever say that!" Elzia's tone was sharp. "Jessamyn! He loves you! No one can give him what you can. Real love is rare and you must treasure what you have. You may even, by the grace of God, someday prove to be a mother!"

Jessa gasped. "How? By finding my husband a woman to stand in my stead? Knowing what I know, I cannot demand his loyalty, but I won't steal a babe out of another woman's arms! I know all too well the pains of birth that arouse the love a mother feels for her child. I have seen it over and over. I could never sunder that bond." Jessa gasped with grief, her heart torn. She stepped from her mother's reach and hugged the near bedpost. It was Christmas Day and her future was shattered.

"Jessa, please, listen to me. All is not hopeless! There is a chance, however small, that you may have children of your own. I said nothing in the beginning because I was not certain you were my daughter. And then we had but one afternoon together before a dashing Knight Captain whisked you away to the altar. Hear me truly. It is not certain that you are barren. Many female Healers are, but not all." Her mother put her hand on her daughter's cheek, once more looking to bridge the solid shields held against her. Jessa did not lower those shields, but she did turn back to face her mother. "It is not a subject that we have discussed," her mother continued more confidently. "As your mother, may I ask something very private? When did you begin your flows? Are they regular with the moon, or do they occur only once in a great while?"

Jessa searched her mother's face, confused by the intimate question. She answered plainly, "Since I was twelve, I bleed each month. My last was just last week. Though I did miss the one before that."

Elzia sighed in relief at Jessa's words. "That is quite understandable, cara mia, you were nearly killed; your body was under duress." Lady Elzia pulled her daughter to sit on the bed next to her. "From what I understand, most women Healers are irregular; most starting very late in age and then getting their flows many moons apart, some not at all. This condition is a sign of an unfruitful womb. If you are regular, then hold to a hope where others may have none."

How much of a hope, the baroness would not commit to. Perhaps it was just a glimmer, but Jessa was willing to grasp any hope she could find. Her mother's hands moved over her shoulders with her thumbs kneading the base of her neck. "Center down and relax," her mother whispered, her energy brushing Jessa's mind. "Let me show you a woman whom I pray you will take after." With deep breaths matching her mother's, Jessa let her shields fall away. A sense of reassurance and trust infused through her mind. With the calming, Jessa let the images of a woman with three children fill her thoughts.

"In your father's family, there was a Healer who was a very important woman and who gave her husband several children. She was your grandfather's sister. As I recall, her name was Jerusha. Her children in turn bore children of their own. Though they are in hiding, as was your father, you may someday meet your cousins and recognize them as family. I know of at least one who is a lady in Rhemuth within the Queen's household, and I hope, someday soon you will meet her."

The distress in the young woman's face lessened. "This grand aunt, she was actually a Healer?"

Lady Elzia nodded. "Healing is strong in your father's blood. Both of his grandfathers were strong Healers. Like your second brother, you favor your father in these talents. But just as with your gold hair, I hope you favor my family's propensity for large families." Lady Elzia pulled her daughter closer to the edge of the bed. Still tense and unsure Jessa could not sit. She wanted so much to believe that there was hope.

"Too much knowledge has been lost to oblivion when the world turned upside down and our people were slaughtered for their talents. Healing, even before then, was a rare gift held by so few. Now it is rarer still. Is it not better to take the chance that maybe, just maybe, you can pass that talent on to the next generation? If you don't try, than how much more does our race lose? Cara mia, please wait and see what the future holds. Don't cheat yourself out of love just because you believe your husband prizes a son more than his love for you. If you didn't possess Healing, where would your Knight Captain be? Not here to love you. He knows that; believe me, he does."

Giving in completely, Jessa collapsed against her mother's shoulder. She was so tired, so uncertain. Did she dare hold to a hope that might be false, or give up on her dream of motherhood before it obsessed her? Tears wet her cheeks even as she tried to deny the grief she felt. "How long do I wait before I know for certain?"

"I don't know, at least a year or, better, two. Don't give up on yourself too soon."

"Two years to prove my failure in marriage?"

"Or your success as a wife, with or without a child. Just love him as I know you do. Be happy with what life gifts you with." Lady Elzia pushed the unpacked clothing aside and pulled the coverlet of her bed down. "My beloved, you're exhausted. You need rest. Sleep here in my room, you'll feel better when you wake." Willingly, Jessa let her mother untie her robe, revealing the night shift she still wore beneath. Elzia put her to bed as she would have if she'd been a child. As she tucked the coverlet up, the mature hands covered her daughter's forehead, deepening their rapport, filling her daughter with warmth and hope. The young woman was so tired, she willingly let the baroness take full control of their rapport. _Let it all go. Let me show you the way. Cara mia, trust that what I do, I do to protect you._ Like a breeze brushing every leaf on a tree, Jessa's felt her mother brush every part of her mind. It felt good to give her complete trust to another. Only with Wash had she ever been so fully under someone else's care.

Physically and psychically blind, she could have offered up no defense in this state. It should have frightened her, yet in some odd way there was comfort in the sensation. She felt an old childhood control that hid her parents' ancestry being released and discarded. Her mother sent her regrets for having placed it there so long ago. If she hadn't, would she have found her daughter back in those tender years? Elzia would never know.

The untrained Deryni came to realize just how strong her mother was. Lady Elzia was fully trained, with royal abilities in her blood. With a gentle yet firm touch, Jessa's memories were accessed and her knowledge reviewed. So much was lacking in her training. Elzia regretted not having more time. Some missing Knowledge her mother freely imparted, such as how to control the embers in the hearth, but other Knowledge she placed behind firm shields that would only open when the time for its need came. The Deryni mentor built a softer shield around the concerns of this day. _I believe in free will, so I will leave you with the choice of whether to tell him or not. But until you make that choice, what we said here needs to be our secret. Therefore, I am building this wall for you to keep your secret close. He will not see it unless you purposely break this wall for him._ An unmeasured time had passed when her mother whispered, _It is done. Sleep now my dear child.  
_  
Held in her mother's arms, Jessa's worries diminished and her mind calmed into deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Healer's Inheritance **

**Chapter 7- A Wish for Lady Evelyn**

Feast of Christmas

Countess Melina of Lendour settled her girdle across her stomach. She smiled at the cradle where Euan lay sleeping and then back at her figure in the mirror. Not many women got their figure back after three births. This being her first triumph, she was pleased to discover that nursing led to more than a happy growing baby. Not that Muir would have commented had she not lost that little tummy bulge. Just so long as she did not become too thin; she would not want to look like a starved waif and become less attractive in his eyes. At the moment she hoped that was not a concern. The Earl was so overjoyed with his wife and his new son that she was sure he was blind to all the less than attractive details that went with childbirth, nursing, and the caring for a newborn babe.

Melina let slip a contented smile as she studied her reflection. Perhaps no one else would notice those well-earned circles under her eyes. She might be tired every minute of the day— quality sleep seemed to be a notion that was elusive at best— nonetheless, she was the happiest she had ever been. As happy as the day she had wed Muir Cynfyn, a promising knight of the realm and heir to Lendour. Her son was like his father, healthy and strong. Since the moment Euan opened those blue, questing eyes of his, he had shown the greatest of interest in the world that surrounded him. All it took was a cooing sound or a soft tickle on his tummy to bring about that toothless baby grin which had both mother and father equally captivated.

The grief after each of the countess's first two stillbirths could not be allowed to overshadow this cherished new life. Those poor innocent babes— how cruel life could sometimes be! Neither of her two daughters had survived delivery; the first born too early and the second with the cord about her neck. The all too recent anguish from that last birth had been enough to frighten the countess when she got pregnant this third time. She had been so careful, doing all the right things. As her belly grew more heavy, her hopes seemed to be renewed with every passing day. She was sure her prayers had been heard, at least up until that fateful moment when she slipped on the wet steps outside of the castle hall, and then all seemed to drop away into tragedy. But it didn't! By the end of that day, the heavens had favored her with true mercy and blessed her with the miracle of a son. This little boy filled her heart, a singular joy that was echoed in her husband's eyes. How many men would have come to their wife's side during the event of childbirth to give a part of himself to ease her fear and her pain? Very few noblemen, she was sure.

To honor her husband and her son this night, Melina chose to adorn the gown she had worn six years before when she had knelt before the Bishop to give her vows to the Heir of Lendour. The gown, made in her homeland of Nur Hallaj, was of fine wool, in a shade matching the ruby shining on her left hand. The fabric was interspersed with figured leaves and small birds done in goldwork embroidery. Since her wedding, white fur had been added to the edges to hold back the cold mountain air, and unlike on the day of her wedding, her figure from motherhood filled out the upper portion of the gown quite pleasantly. She was sure her husband would find no objection with her looks this night.

Lady Lisa came forward with a soft veil. "I think we will let your hair shine like that of a maiden's. Let the revelers admire your youth and beauty," announced her companion as she placed the veil to cover only the back of the countess's auburn hair.

"I am not quite as young as my dear new sister," Melina said with a nod. "I do not need to compete with her beauty."

"Not compete, my lady, stand above. You are as beautiful as she, and more so. You are radiant in your happiness. I dare say, the Earl and his Countess will astound the gathering at the feast tonight."

"I need only to astound Lord Muir. It is his shining eyes which are all that I need. It's Lady Jessamyn's first Christmas with us, I'll not begrudge her the attention." Melina retrieved from her jewelry box a golden stag brooch which Lisa assisted to pin at the center of her neckline. "Should you not be dressing Jessa tonight? I thought you were taking it upon yourself to train her up."

"She is with her mother. They'll be parted on the morrow, I thought it best to not interrupt their last day together." The older lady frowned. "Though I may have made a mistake. When I excused myself, saying I was attending you this evening, Baroness Kyriell requested Lady Evelyn's presence. I am sorry my lady. If I had anticipated that request, I would have made an excuse for Evelyn as well."

"Pray, tell me why? Evelyn and the baroness have become friends. Why this frown?" the countess inquired, wondering if she detected a touch of jealousy. "It is good for Evelyn to break away from her solitude. Her friendship with the dowager has lightened her mood."

"My Lady, you should be as concerned for Evelyn as I am. She should not be forced to stare into the face of her lost dreams so soon." Lisa shied away. Worry, possibly even anger, seemed to cross the ladies face. Her shoulders tensed as she blurted out, " _Her_ abuse of my empathy is bad enough, but to put Evelyn so near the cause of her dashed prospects is...is outrageous!

"Who has abused you? You cannot mean the dowager Baroness… are you talking about Jessa? I don't understand. You know how I dearly love our innocent novice. If there is something that has happened, you must tell it to me," the countess requested in surprise.

"I— I don't wish to say anything against the Knight Captain's choice in a bride, but from what I learned last night, this girl is not the innocent that she claims to be. She has deceived me and, in so doing, has abused my friendship. She…." The older lady stopped as concern crossed Melina's face.

"Deceived you? Are you sure?"

"Last night, I learned…." The dowager's voice turned to a whisper. She leaned in close to the countess. "...That Jessa is Deryni! I have even learned that she can Heal. Her illness…. _it_ was a lie!"

"Oh..." Melina looked closely at her friend. She had wanted to tell her the truth before, but she knew from experience that sometimes even those she thought she knew well could not be openly trusted with some secrets. With this secret discovered, it was time to earn her friend's complete loyalty. She inwardly prayed that it need not be forced. "I am sorry, my dear, dear Lisa. What you have learned was hidden from everyone. It is a secret that the earl asked to be kept. Do not blame Jessa."

"But, I was the one who cared for her!" The dowager tensed as she tried to explain. "After the fire, I befriended her and protected her from the nunnery. Thinking her an innocent caught in a drama, I cared for her like she was my daughter. I stood up for her even as Evelyn cried in her room. Poor, dear Evelyn! Right then, I should have used my influence to dissuade Sir Washburn and let the girl go back to the convent."

"Lisa! Please! Lady Evelyn has fully accepted that my matchmaking was not to be. She has no regrets. As for your empathy, believe me, Jessa would not abuse it. And don't think for a minute that you could have turned Wash away from the direction of his heart. Neither Evelyn nor I would have tried that." The countess took both of the older lady's hands in hers. "If it were not for the loyalty of your family-you, your son, and your grandson-always putting yourselves forward to protect the people of my family, the worst could have come to pass a long time ago. I thank you for protecting Jessa, and I thank Robby for coming to Sir Washburn's aid. I see their happiness as reward for bringing my sweet Euan into this world a healthy babe." The notion of that not having happened sent a shiver down Melina's spine.

Lisa did not need to be Deryni to feel Melina's fear. "I don't understand." She looked over at the cradle with the little boy sucking a finger in his sleep. "Euan is healthy."

"Come sit by me. I have much to tell you about those days not so long ago. It would be easier for me to show you than to use words. You deserve the truth. Please…." Melina patted the bench at her side.

At first grudgingly and then with more assurance, Lady Lisa came to sit beside her friend. The dowager had experienced rapport before, but a small trepidation for magic still stemmed from her childhood when had believed the words of the priests and high nobles who condemned the Deryni race. That was before she had married Baron Donneral and experienced at first hand the loyalty that was shared between these two families.

Not wishing to abuse Lisa's trust, the countess slowly moved her hand to touch the older woman's forehead. With gentle fingers, she pulled Lisa's head to rest against her shoulder. The rapport between them was shallow, but sufficient to let knowledge and images flow from one to the other. It seemed Lisa had not been aware of Euan's Healing at his birth. She had suspected the nun from the convent, Sister Vivian, to be Deryni and to have the power to control Melina's pain, but that was all.

"Then Sister Vivian is not Deryni?" Lisa whispered.

 _No, she is not, but surely that tells you how much Vivian cares for Jessa,_ the countess answered through the link. _She is willing to take the risk onto herself to protect a Deryni Healer. You must understand how rare Healing is. That is why Muir and I want to do our part to keep Jessa safe. And that is nothing compared to how our Knight Captain feels. Since she Healed him, he has become a great puppy whenever she is near._ The countess's words were followed by a good-natured image of the earl's brother; here was Washburn sporting a smile which many had not seen in years.

Lady Lisa's misgivings over the match which was not to be for Lady Evelyn was eased by this knowledge. "I noticed that too. Jessa really did Heal him? Robby had let slip once or twice that something deeply connecting had occurred between the Knight Captain and the convent novice, but whenever I questioned him, he changed his story. I did not know what to believe. After the men came home from the war, none of the women could understand why Washburn's eyes never fell upon Lady Evelyn, not in the way everyone expected of him."

"Aye, a man's heart does not always follow the path it is placed upon. I do not regret the outcome, and neither should you. I still have hope I will find our dear Evelyn a fine husband. Before our warrior King goes through his 'Stud Book' and hands her off as reward to some family he needs allegiance with." Melina huffed at the impossibility that her friend could make a good match that way. Lisa immediately agreed on that account. "I am glad this is no longer a secret from you. Although, now that you know, would you permit me to give you a little protection to keep this knowledge safe?"

Lisa knew this was a part of learning the secrets of the Deryni. She agreed to the safeguard with a nod. Melina deepened their rapport and shielded the knowledge just shared from anyone else's prying touch. A brief sweep of Lisa's emotions showed Melina that time might still be needed for Jessa to regain Lisa's trust, but at least her companion no longer felt deceived.

* * *

Jessa managed to survive the two youthful ladies-in-waiting fussing over her person. All through the bath, the dressing, and the combing of her hair, the two giggled and teased each other over which of the squires were more likely to lead them in the carole, at least if their guardians could be given the slip. Jessa's silence seemed to encourage their banter. Soon they were commenting on the good qualities of each squire, qualities that made the married woman blush. Their gaiety did start to ease Jessa's mood, especially when they brought her wedding gown into view. They said it was her mother's desire to see her dressed just so. The young ladies had no notion of the allure; all Jessa's hopes were embodied in its gold silk. Wearing it once more was like slipping back into the dream, a dream where reality held no dominion.

Jessa left the privacy of the wardrobe in a state of felicity, her troubles buried for another time. She found her mother in the guest solar conversing with an elegant dark-haired lady. Jessa had seen the widowed Countess of Eastmarch in the presence of Countess Melina before, but she was rarely there when Jessa arrived, so they had not yet formally meet.

"Ah, here is my daughter now. Jessamyn, please come. You're just in time, my dear, as the men are coming to escort us down. But before we go, I wish to acquaint you with Lady Evelyn. I want you and her to be friends."

Jessa curtsied before the widowed countess. "It is my honor to greet you, Countess Evelyn."

"Lady Jessamyn, greetings! I was thinking that it was time when we should meet. I am sorry that I was indisposed and I missed your wedding. I understand that it was an enchanting event, and that you were beautiful. Seeing you dressed so, I will say you are even more lovely than the stories told."

"I had heard you were ill, I am sorry. Many people said they missed your presence in the Cathedral that day. I pray that you have recovered, and that no more sorrow passes your way," Jessa said with head bowed.

"We all have sorrow in our lives at some point. It is how we live forward that defines who we are," Evelyn replied. "It is for the sake of my child that I endure." The lady's smile softened.

"Jessa," Lady Elzia chimed in. "Did you know that Evelyn is Sir Artimus's sister? That she has… shall we say… knowledge which might help you in your path of learning." Elzia gestured for her daughter to sit between them, but the news took Jessa by surprise.

"I did not know. I thought Sir Artimus was a guardian, but not your brother. Then you are…"

Evelyn let her shields flare, a soft blue aura surrounding her face. "Yes… We ladies of Deryni blood need to stand together and share our knowledge. I think there is much we can teach each other."

"I would like that," Jessa said with a shy smile.

Her mother took Evelyn's hand and then Jessa's hand, bringing them together. _There isn't time to explain, but I do hope you will become friends, I wish I could have gotten you both together sooner._

There was a ready calm that surrounded Evelyn in their rapport. She willingly shared the love she held for her daughter, that little girl who was always at her side. Jessa passed across the happiness she felt for Evelyn for having such a sweet child, but then her own sadness crept to the surface. She was forced to lessen the sharing for fear her concerns would be known.

Evelyn felt Jessa's turn of emotion, but she did not understand it. _I will enjoy your friendship,_ Lady Evelyn told her.

 _And I yours,_ Jessa replied even as she bowed her head, feeling shame at her inability to open up more. The new barriers of her mind were an unaccustomed obstacle; she needed to learn to share herself without sharing all of herself. The knowledge may have been hidden, but the pain was not. How could she have more than the shallowest of rapport without revealing her despondency? For it was evident that her mother had said nothing of her troubles to the widowed countess.

After Evelyn's hand had dropped away, her mother admonished her. _Jessa, surely you can be more civil than that!_

"I am sorry, Lady Evelyn," Jessa responded with normal words. "It was not my intention to be so abrupt. Perhaps on another day when I am less tired and more settled here. I really do look forward to spending time in your good company."

"It is quite all right. I can imagine it has been a great change from where you were before. A change for the better, but tiring none the less. I had a similar experience when I married Earl Sighere. Perhaps I can help you, you only need to ask." Evelyn's smile was warm, letting Jessa feel less ashamed.

"My lady," Jessa curtsied before the countess. "You honor me with your offer."

Cecilia entered the room at that moment, excitement filling her smile. "The men are coming up the stairs," she announced.

"Very well, ladies; we have a feast to enjoy!"

* * *

Fanfare, trumpeted from the balconies, announced the arrival of the Earl of Lendour to the Christmas Feast. The glory of the pageantry was traditional; the people expected it, and their lord and lady happily acquiesced to the formalities. Lord Muir was a proud man as he stepped before his people. His lovely countess was at his side, and his closest family and friends were at his back. Making his way toward the main table, Muir gave warm salutations to many as he passed them by. The countess mirrored her husband's joy with heart-felt greetings. It was with honest respect that the people of Cynfyn bowed to the Deryni couple, one of but a few of Gwynedd's nobility known to be of that race.

For all the denunciation of Deryni in recent decades, the mountain people of Lendour were not of the same mind as their lowland cousins. They accepted their earl with affection. It was a harsh landscape that they lived in, and they knew and trusted their noble lord in ways the lowlanders would not understand. The earl, as had his father and his uncle before him, had not and would not knowingly break that trust. It was a symbiotic relationship that had survived two centuries and with care would last into the future. As proven tonight, when all of the castle residents were invited to the feast, from the highest born to the lowest hand, only the guards on duty, the kitchen servants, and the pages serving were not finding their seats in readiness for the lavish repast that was about to be served. And as for all of those who did serve tonight, there had been a hearty luncheon earlier in the day, so that none would be deprived.

As the earl's family rounded the head table to find their places, the sound of cups pounding the wooden table tops grew loud. Muir let the sound drum on for a moment before he raised his hand in greeting. "I thank you all for joining us on this night of glory. You do my family honor by celebrating with us," he called as the background noise quieted. "This has been a hard year. We have lost many friends in a war not of our making. But these friends and comrades did not sacrifice themselves for naught; their honor and indeed all of yours have in this year made the kingdom safe. Gwynedd is victorious and Lendour has proven its worth to the kingdom with gallantry, skill, and loyalty. For this, I thank each and every one of you. You are what make Lendour great!" He held his hands out to the gathering and nodded his gratitude. A goodly cheer encompassed the hall. "Tonight, we rejoice in the birth of our Lord. Let us be merry and live to the fullest what life has to offer. Let's not waste one moment longer without toasting to life fully obtained."

"Hear! Hear!" cheered the revelers with goblets held high.

The earl nodded to his chaplain. "If you would, please, give us a blessing for this feast we are about to partake."

Father Emesto stood and gave his blessing to those in the hall. When all had said "Amen", Muir called for the food to be served. "Lord Steward Ohlin, if you please!"

The earl brought his goblet to his lips and took a hearty taste of his wine as the Steward gave a bow and tapped his staff against the floor. The crowd cheered as the kitchen archway filled with movement: the first two squires came forth carrying a platter of roasted boar dressed in apples and sauce. Behind them came two dozen pages, all carrying platters laden with rich holiday foods.

The boar was placed upon the table before the earl for breaking. Squire Robby stepped forward with jeweled carving knives in hand and a solemn expression on his face. This was his first time carving for the earl and though he was young, he was being honored today to perform such a duty, a duty he took quite seriously. With a slight shake in his hand, he carved the first slice into the meat. With a careful breath, Robby steadied his hand. The following cuts parallel then perpendicular went smoother in the way he had been trained. A last cut across them all and the first morsels of savory roast were served on the earl's trencher. A ladle of apple and wine sauce was offered and accepted at the earl's pleasure. All cheered, for the feasting had begun.

The boar was moved aside to be offered for each member of the high table, while other hearty dishes were walked past the revelers in the hall for each to take his want. For every hungry soul there was plenty to eat: boar and pheasant, mutton and fish. Plates of tubers and vegetables drenched in honey and nuts, kale and bread stuffing, sweet pastry pies and cakes. Talk was light as all turned their joy to the delicacies before them.

"I may steal your master cook," stated Baron Jathurn after a taste of a particularly savory dish. "If you find him missing tomorrow, you will know I have bribed him to come south with us," the baron jested with the lovely Countess of Lendour who had honored him by having him sit at her side.

"I think it would take much to coax Master Cairn out of his kitchens," replied the countess with a smile. "He rules the ovens like a king rules his kingdom. Not many venture into his domain without finding themselves laden with some task. Be prepared to stir the stew kettles before you even have a chance to have your offer heard."

"Surely, countess, you have never been made to stir the kettles," the baron teased.

"Oh, yes I have, good sir. And I am proud to say I will do it again if I must to keep your bribe from stealing our cook away." At the engaging smile of surprise from the baron, Melina merrily laughed. It felt good to laugh, a laugh of pleasure which brought many smiles to the faces around her.

"You have me, my lady, I will offer Master Cairn my regards for a feast well laid and nothing more. I would not wish a beauty such as thee at any labor. You are the star in Lendour's sky."

"Now you flatter, my lord." Melina blushed. "Your sister has become the newest star in Lendour's night."

Jathurn leaned forward to view his sister sitting beyond the Knight Captain's right hand. Though she was dressed elegantly and her smile was soft and pleasant, she seemed a little tired or perhaps distant, judging from the look in her eyes. "I dare say my sister is not quite recovered from last night's ordeal. For tonight, her star does not shine as brightly as yours." Jathurn's gaze continued down the table, and he smiled a greeting at the lady in sapphire who was the other shining star at the high table. "Only one other seems to rival your captivating spirit, dear countess. The Lady Evelyn has been introduced to me by my mother. And I have wondered if I dare be so bold as to ask after her."

The countess raised her eyes and studied the intentions on the baron's face. "Of the lady in question, I am glad to see her smiling; she is deserving of so much more than she has." Melina looked down to the end of the table, beyond Washburn and Jessa, to the right of Sir Artimus. "Hers is a sad tale, one I had hoped to remedy with a fresh beginning once the war found its finish. My desire had been to reintroduce her to one who had been made a widower just as she has been widowed. I had thought, perhaps, that sharing their mutual losses would put their hearts on the mend."

Melina looked down the table for a moment in thought before she looked out across the hall with a nod of acceptance. "Cupid had other plans for one of those broken hearts. Today, I see that heart healed and made whole." Melina made a point this time to not look back to where Sir Washburn sat as she said this. "I do not regret for a moment that my plans did not work. Still, I am very protective of Lady Evelyn, as is Sir Artimus. You will have to make your case with him if you ask after her."

Jathurn watched the countess, a little surprised. "You had wished to see her betrothed to your husband's brother? I understand Sir Washburn lost his first wife three years ago, and that Lady Evelyn's husband died at the beginning of the war by Torenthi arms. Is that right?" he asked to confirm what he'd heard.

Melina swirled the wine in her cup with a sad expression on her face. "Yes— in another time and another place, I had hoped to make her a match worthy of her good spirit," she said quietly. "Please understand," she quickly added. "Not for a minute do I regret the love Wash and Jessa have found in each other."

The baron considered the countess's words for a moment before surprising her with his thoughts. "Your praise of the lady speaks volumes for her disposition. I do not inquire for myself, I am happily married," said the baron in reply to Melina's sudden interest. "I inquire for my brother, who is in need of a good wife, a Deryni wife. One who could share what a human wife can not, and perhaps assist him in the energy needs that his work requires."

"There is Cecilia," the countess offered. They both looked down toward the end of the table where the young woman sat, her full attention was given to the minstrels at the end of the hall.

The baron smiled. "She is not quite the wife for a man with a demanding career. My brother is a Healer and he needs a strong spouse, like the strength my sister has found in Sir Washburn. Sir Ellison is a good man, hardworking, and loyal to a fault. He will make a good husband when he finds a good woman to marry, there just have not been many Deryni women available to choose among. In our time here, I have spoken with Lady Evelyn, and I have seen a passion that she and my brother might share. Would you permit my brother to write to her to see if they have common interests?"

"I will permit it if Sir Artimus approves. But I warn you I will not see this lady heartbroken again. And know that her daughter is very important to her. Even though you are Jessa's brother, be aware that I am not above retaliation when it comes to protecting those I hold dear."

"I never wish, nor do I intend, to incur your wrath, my lady," Jathurn replied sincerely.

"Very well." The countess smiled. "This is a happy night indeed. I look forward to seeing what the spring unfolds."


	8. Chapter 8

**Healer's Inheritance **

**Chapter 8- A State of Dreaming**

A dish of berries and chilled cream gave a sweet, final taste to put to rest the senses that overindulged through the multiple courses of the feast. The countess had delayed her departure during Troubadour Harlow's heroic tale, and now that his last gallant phrase was sung and the applause for his talent had died down, her guilt pried her to stand and make her excuses. "My lord Earl, my honored guests, I must take my leave of you for just this while, for there is one little stomach who has not had the pleasure of this feast." Those at the table, all feeling quite full after such a repast, gave a mild laugh as the countess curtsied to take her leave. The men stood and bowed as she stepped away. She turned back for a moment. "Lady Evelyn, Lady Jessamyn, I would dearly love both of your company, if our good knights can bear to be without you both for just this short time."

Evelyn stood with ease, accepting the bow from her brother before she left the table. Melina noticed how Jathurn was quick to take this opportunity to move down the table toward Sir Artimus. She would love to overhear that conversation. She wondered just what Arty would say to this unexpected bid for his sister's hand. She was anxious to discover Lady Evelyn's feelings on the subject. A Deryni husband with a special gift just might be the kind of man her friend needed to be happy and secure once more.

As Evelyn joined her, the countess looked back and held out her hand to Jessa. The younger lady had stood, but her uncertain expression indicated her reluctance to leave the comfort of her husband's side. "A little reprieve from this crowded room will do you good, my dear. Come, we will let the men talk and plan while we see to more personal needs."

Washburn squeezed Jessa's hand as she turned from him. "My dear Countess, you will promise me that you will return with these lovely ladies before the carole begins, for I am sworn to no less than three dances tonight."

"I do promise to return, good sir, with the ladies in good time. So I will ask it of the earl not to begin the dance until we have returned."

"Our glory will not shine so bright until you are back among us," declared Muir. "Until then, we will rely on the acrobats to keep us entertained. And I promise, not one step will I dance until you are back at my side." He finished his declaration with a flourished bow.

All three ladies barely hid their delight at the earl's extravagance. With smiles hidden behind hands, the three ladies departed the festivities for the supposedly quieter nursery on the third floor. Though, indeed, as they opened the door to the nursery, the noise within proved there was no quiet to be found here. Just as they stepped within the room, they were greeted by a high squeal of "Mama, Mama!" Evelyn managed to brush past the countess and bend down just in time to stop a little girl from crashing into everyone's knees. Nanny Nilla scurried forward, full of apologies. She only relaxed after Evelyn's smile turned from her daughter to assure her all was well.

Melina patted the little girl's dark hair before she turned to Taria, who held out Melina's child for her to cradle in her arms. She felt a rush of pleasure as she hugged her son. "There you are, my little man," she cooed, rubbing her nose with his. His little face turned up, mouth open in hunger. He whimpered a sound when his lips met his mama's fingers; his hands making little fists in frustration when his meal appeared delayed. "Just a minute, my son, you must have just a little patience with your mama." Moving toward the side of the room, she let Taria loosen the back of her gown. As the fabric slipped away, her baby had no further obstacle to easing his hunger. The countess laughed at his greediness. Balancing her son just so, she moved to the chair and settled into her role of motherhood. After a moment, the squealing sounds of glee caused her to look back over her shoulder. Evelyn was there whirling her little girl around, swinging her in a dance while singing a playful song. Sigheria sang giddily with her mama. Then the lady hugged her daughter close, carrying her over to sit near the countess.

 _Evelyn, I have news from Baron Jathurn,_ Melina's Mind-Speech announced. She was barely able to contain her joy for her friend. _I want to hear from you how you feel about his bid on behalf of his brother, Lord Ellison._

Evelyn's face lit with excitement. _Did he ask you? I wondered if that was why the baron was taking my seat next to my brother as we left!_ The two ladies seated near the hearth giggled in excitement as they imagined what this match could be.

Jessa didn't immediately follow the countesses to the hearth, nor did she realize they were conversing as they settled close together. For a long moment instead, she stood in the arched doorway, containing the tears that threatened to spill forth as she witnessed the show of motherly devotion. Did she dare to let these feelings of motherhood into her heart? Within the convent, those feelings had been suppressed as a dream for others to experience, but not for her. When the miracle of her beloved knight and her marriage came, those motherly desires had broken free of their confinement. Could she deny them and cage them up again? Could her new life find its full potential if she did not allow herself to give her heart to children? No! She loved children. She realized this answer even as the screams and giggles of other children startled her. The sounds of more children made her step in past the threshold to see the room's far side filled with the castle's youngest inhabitants. These toddlers and youngsters were gathered together under the watchful eyes of a few nannies, which then allowed their parents the freedom to enjoy the Christmas feast.

"Come, Jessa," the countess called to her. "Come sit near us. Enjoy a few minutes reprieve from the crowds down in the hall."

Overwhelmed, Jessa didn't immediately respond. Instead, she watched the children play. She smiled to herself, not finding this scene at all a place of respite, but rather a room filled with exuberant energy; more energy than what she had felt in the hall downstairs. It came to her how she had missed the giving of gifts that morning. Each child had a new toy in their hands, for even at this late hour, they seemed to not have tired of playing with them. The nearest girl combed the hair of her doll, the next boy pranced a wooden pony across the floor. Without warning, a hide-covered ball scooted across the room, bouncing off pallets of bedding, and passed Jessa's feet. A pair of boys chased after the ball, deflecting each other's balance in the pursuit of the runaway toy. One of the boys veered to miss the toddler with his horse, falling instead into the girl, his weight knocking her down and accidentally pushing the doll from her hands. He was up and running again with a squeal, but the little girl sat in a heap on the floor crying.

Jessa was quick to kneel at her side, gathering up the doll and placing it back into the child's hands. "Are you all right?" she asked as the girl whimpered, squeezing the doll to her chest. Jessa patted the doll's hair back into place. "She is a pretty one, this doll of yours. Have you given her a name yet?'"

"Chrissy," her shy voice said. "Papa gave her to me this morning."

"You must have been a very good girl to receive such a wonderful gift," Jessa said, holding back the small pain she felt in her heart. "Give your sweet Chrissy a kiss on the cheek for me, and tell her how pretty she is and how lucky she is to have you to protect her." Jessa touched the child's hand as the girl kissed her doll, and the Healer knew no harm had come from the boy's roughhousing. The ball came rolling their way once more, and with a quick lift Jessa had the girl in her arms and away from harm. The boys ran by, oblivious to the nanny who scolded them from behind. Jessa turned with the child in her arms as the door opened, admitting a stream of women dressed in festive attire. One of them bowed solemnly before Jessa, her arms up to take back her daughter. Jessa kissed the girl's cheek before handing her across. "She must give you great joy," she managed to say as the mother nodded in agreement and took her child back.

The mothers of the castle had followed the example of the countess to take a respite from the feast to come check on their children and then find a pallet on which to put them to bed. There were nearly twenty children which four nannies shared in the duty of watching. It was obvious that the children had played hard while everyone else was feasting, for at first the room was filled with youthful voices sharing their adventures with their mothers. As Jessa watched, she was amazed by these mothers' abilities to calm their young ones and bring about an eased feeling across the room.

The nursery settled and servants doused the candles in the wall sconces to help bring about sleep. Jessa, so unused to this show of motherly affection, watched the scene in wonder. Love spilled over the room, the kind of love Jessa had little experience with, and it left her in a state of admiration. And aloneness. She now realized she was the only one here without a child in her arms. Almost dazed, she wandered over to the side of the countess and took a seat near her. She was torn, not knowing if she should drink from the flask of motherly love or hold it at arm's reach to keep from feeling grief if it never passed her way.

Melina and Evelyn must have been conversing silently, for in that moment Evelyn blushed and laughed out loud. Both women smiled at the attention Jessa turned toward them, but no explanation was offered. They returned to light conversation about how well the men were dressed that night, admiring Muir's new tunic and the splash of white showing through the split sleeves of Washburn's tunic. Evidently he had chosen to wear the same fine, lightweight shirt of white silk that he had worn on his wedding day. This small departure from his normal black and red attire, they attributed to Jessa's ability to lighten the warrior's outlook. The ladies teased Jessa over it and she smiled back, her eyes falling to Muir's infant son in Melina's arms. She must not have hidden her emotions completely, for the countess leaned over to her, placing a hand on hers.

"Oh, Jessamyn, you needn't look sad. Soon you will know what it is like to be a mother, and you will wonder what ever happened to your youth and your freedom. Now is the time in your life to enjoy the undivided attention you can give to your Knight Captain. For it doesn't take long for the belly to swell to ripening and for your life to be forever changed. I promise you that this special love will grow from what your first love begets." She smiled down at her son as he finished his meal and fell asleep in her arms.

"Aye," Evelyn whispered, having kissed the cheek of her daughter who too had fallen asleep in her lap. "Never waste happiness. For the heavens test us, but I believe that light is offered when our way seems darkest. Just open your eyes and it will lead you to a good path."

"I have always had faith that this is so." Jessa responded, warming to the thought that she would not have been led to this path if utter darkness were in her future.

Melina stood to place Euan in his cradle, and Evelyn lifted her daughter to place her on the nearest pallet. Each countess kissed her child's forehead before standing. Taria adjusted Melina's gown for her, tightening the lacing at the back, and then she fingered the countess hair and veil back into place. Taken this as their cue, the other ladies about the room tucked their children into bed and kissed them good night. All the mothers in a group tip-toed from the room, hopeful that the children's quiet would remain after they had left. A thankful smile from the nannies proved they appreciated the reprieve, and that they had everything well in hand. Melina was the last to leave, closing the door behind her. "They should all sleep well. Without guilt, I think we can happily rejoin the feast and make merry like we were once more free to be as young and carefree as our Jessamyn." Both Lady Melina and Lady Evelyn kissed Jessa's cheek with a 'Thank you' before making their way back to the feast. Jessa was left to wonder what it was that they had thanked her for.

* * *

All the ladies returned to the feast, refreshed and in good spirits. A call went out for the carole, and with a wave of his hand the earl signaled the musicians to play. The center of the hall had been cleared with the tables pushed off to the side, leaving an open space to enjoy the dance. With a bow, Muir took the hand of his lady and guided her down from the dais. At the head of the dance floor, he bowed low, offering his lady his respect and his devotion. As he straightened, the musicians took up their mark and Troubadour Harlow began the ballad of _Galyenne_.

 _"Se j'ai grant joie enz, enz mon cuer, Ne demandez dont elle vient!"_ the tenor's voice filled the room. If I have great joy in my heart. Do not ask whence it comes!

Melina laughed at the choice of songs and heartily answered the call as if Muir had been the caller. _"Gallyennne, tres douce suer."_ Gallyennne, my sweet sister. The countess bowed to the Ladies Jessa and Evelyn before taking Muir's hand. _"Se j'ai grant joie enz, enz mon cuer, ne veul que nuls en sache fuer!"_ If I have joy in my heart, I do not want anyone at all to know about it!

Muir gallantly turned her around in the first steps of the dance. And then to everyone's surprise, he sang in a voice deep and steady the answer to the countess's call, _"Que j'iang du cuer vous saves bien."_ That I love with all my heart, you know full well.

Melina gave a laugh of joy and a sweeping curtsy to her husband. _"Se j'ai grant joie enz, enz mon cuer,"_ she sang in a pleasing voice the answering phrase. _"Ne demandez dont elle vient!"_ If I have joy in my heart, do not ask whence it comes!

 _"Que j'iang du cuer vous saves bien."_ A harmony of devotion filled the hall as together the earl and the countess repeated the last phrase. That I love with all my heart, you know full well. **

The stanza ended with Muir stealing a kiss from his wife, and the people cheered. As the noble couple curtsied and bowed to each other, Wash guided his golden bride to stand at the hall's center beside his liege lord. He bowed deeply, honoring the blush on his angel's cheeks. As the second verse of the ballad was called by Harlow, other dancers filled the floor. The voices in the hall answered the tenor's song.

Melina giggled like a girl as Muir lifted her high and turned her around in the dance. She stole her eyes away from her husband to see that her new sister had brushed away her insecurities. A refreshing exuberance of youth had returned to Jessa's face as her knight's strong hands lifted her up and turned her round in the dance. Beyond the couple, Melina could see Baron Kyriell asking permission to dance with Evelyn. Artimus seemed to have no objection as he handed across her hand to the Baron. With the promise of another happy match, Melina laughed aloud as her husband once more lifted her high over the heads of the crowd.

Into the night the people of Cynfyn, men and women alike, noble and poor, joined in the dance and the carole. Their feet moved to the music and their voices sang to the night. Making merry of the holiday, many chose to dance until dawn. For the few who would be making their departure in the morning, they turned in just before dawn to find their beds and get at least an hour or two of sleep.

* * *

985, December 28

Travel on the road south

The joy of the Christmas feast was still a warm memory. The bad weather and the rough terrain had done nothing to dispel the magic of that night. The most recent news, however, threatened to hamper the Knight Captain's good mood.

 _From what you say, I gather that the royal messenger has not yet arrived?_ Washburn's frustration transferred across the distance link. _I have received confirmation that he had ridden out of Nyford yesterday. That letter should have been in your possession by the end of this day. Damn! This could mean trouble._

 _Nay Captain. There's been no word from Nyford nor from Rhemuth,_ Dillon reported. _I'm havin' difficulty keeping a man on watch at the west gate. So far, two have been recognized and arrested. We've barricaded ourselves in this store room. My men slip in and out through a low hole in the wall, which is best done under the cover of darkness_.

 _Have them hold tight one more day. If a mishap with the royal messenger has occurred, then Rhemuth will hear of it, I'll make that promise; although I fear not in time to help our needs._ Wash shook his head, working through the problem. _Letter or no letter, I intend to lead the Tralian delegation to Abbeyford's crossing at mid-morning. I'd like to expect the ferry to meet us on the north bank. Do you have the means to hold the store room and get the ferry across the river?_

 _Aye, Captain, I'll have the ferry there if I have to bribe, or if that does not work, cajole the ferryman at sword point._ The lieutenant's image of cajoling was not without threat since their attempts at bribery to this date had been met with resistance. _I fear to tell ye about the altercation we had today. Seems information travels faster than the royal messenger; rumor has it that the grain will be released to us by royal decree. So you would na-a believe the abbey's response._ Dillon's long pause marked his control over his anger. _Monks incited the town folk warning of a threat from coastal marauders moving inland. For everyone's protection, they ordered all goods to be stored within the abbey walls. The merchants that tried to resist were added to those already locked away in the magistrate's cells. And of course, the villagers panicked. They helped the monks move nearly everything behind the abbey walls._ Dillon sent an image of a great gathering of men and clergy confiscating the contents of nearby buildings. _Their attempt to claim our grain was quelled; seems they had not counted on the full complement of soldiers that I had posted. Claims of heresy were issued at the sight of the Lendour swords, but smartly, they backed off. The trouble is, it only doubled their reinforcements on the barricade at the end of the way. I fear that the abbot has sent a man to Nyford to get more reinforcements to extricate us. We have no more than two days.  
_

Washburn was considering the consequence of that news, when Dillon scoffed with disbelief. _Southern Sea raiders?_ _These towns folk are gullible beyond compare. Sure, there have been small raids across the coastal villages during the last year, but can you rightly imagine the Moors coming this far into Gwynedd?_ Dillon's disgust came clearly across the late night contact.

Sir Washburn sighed. It was easy to foresee that the morrow was going to be a trying day. _Our grain, you have it secure?_

 _Oh, aye, we do. We'd gained entrance to the storeroom on Christmas Eve. Seemed the monks on that day were more vigilant to their prayers than to their guard duties. We've owned the building since. We'd have quit this town days ago, if you had permitted my sword to cut a swath through that barricade. We can work the ferry ourselves if we have to. This business is nonsense._

 _Be careful, my friend. A blood bath during Yuletide will not help our reputation, not in the least,_ Wash said with disgust at the situation. He was well aware that his actions on the marrow could have long lasting repercussions. _Stay alert tonight. If they've managed to waylay the messenger, then they know we are coming. They may try something more. Meet me at the river with what men you can spare; keep everyone else alert on guard duty. Once we've crossed, we will bring this nonsense to an end._

 _I'm at your command, Captain,_ Dillon acknowledged. _I'll be there on the north bank in the morning._

The link ended. Wash took a breath, letting his energy unfocus and fall away. In the lamplight, he glanced down at the only other person inside his small tent; his squire slept peacefully on the pillows near his feet. He had not pulled too much energy from the willing young man. Wash grabbed a blanket off his cot and laid it over the heir to the Donneral estate. As with all the Donnerals, Robby held no qualms when it came to magic. Although there were no Deryni in the Donneral family line, their loyalty and friendship to the earls of Lendour was renewed afresh with each generation.

During that first night out from the Valley of Cynfyn, the travelers had found a welcome respite under the roof of the baronial manor of Donneral. Robert had brought his family home in the accompaniment of the Tralian contingent, along with Sir Washburn, his squire, and the twenty Lendour guardsman who all traveled down the icy road. By sunset, everyone had warm stews in their bellies, with beds readied upstairs for the women and pallets in the hall for the men.

When all had bedded down and his responsibilities for the night were done, Wash discovered a loneliness he had not expected to come upon him. Due to the last two years of war, he was used to living in the company of his men, sleeping on cold cots under canvas roofs or hard pallets in manor halls. Along with this arrangement always came the long-running jokes about the comforts of a soft bed and a good wife. Wash would smile with his men, but never joined in. He had known of that comfort before and remembered those days with a feeling of loss. That first night in the Donneral manor when the jokes had begun, he realized how his feelings had changed. All his thoughts turned toward his new bride and the painful regret of not having her at his side. He'd been so preoccupied that morning, getting the entourage ready for travel, that he scarcely made time for his wife. It wasn't until long after he had kissed her goodbye, told her how much he loved her and would miss her, that he came to realize what that emotion truly meant. His thoughts could not let go of the memory of her hands firmly grasping his hands, and of her face smiling bravely up at him. She had shed no tears when she said goodbye to her mother and her brother, yet he saw tears in her eyes during her ardent farewell to him. There was something more she had wanted to say to him, something that needed sharing. Was there a hint of unspoken pain behind her smile? Afterward, he regretted that he had not taken the extra time for a private leave-taking. He realized they had not had a solitary moment since before Christmas Eve Mass, and now that lapse on his part was nagging at him. His attempt to contact his angel on that first night out from Cynfyn had met with failure. If she had slept, he could have spoken into her dreams, but she had not, and he had not taught her the means of speaking over long distances in spells. How stupid of him to forget to teach her that magic!

The road south during the next two days had greeted the travelers with periodic dusting of snow. That at least was better than the rain storms they came across at the end of the third day. They met few lowlanders upon the road; every Gwyneddian from noble to farmer had found a host for the Epiphany, places of warmth and welcome. It was not just once that Baron Kyriell apologized for choosing these days to return home. Lord Washburn discarded those apologies, stating once more the necessity of retrieving the grain he'd purchased to feed the city of Cynfyn through the winter. The road would soon be impassable; by early January there would be no more travel until spring.

As the rain pattered against the tent roof over his head, Wash assured himself that Robby slept. He needn't bother his squire for his next mind link; he wouldn't want the boy to experience any stray emotions that might overflow from his heart. Wash leaned back, made himself comfortable on his cot, and then exhaled a deep breath, focusing on the remade ruby ring on his finger, the one that matched his bride's wedding ring. As with each of the last three nights, he cast the spell to reach out to his beloved. He found success. Finally she slept; in her dream state, he sent her his love. _Sleep on, my angel, don't wake. Know that I love you and I miss you, I wish I could hold you in my arms._

 _"Wash!"…_ _Wash are you here?_ She stirred in her sleep, grasping for his presence. _I miss you!_ she called out dreamily as she realized he talked to her from a place far away. _Are you well?_

 _Aye, all is well. Your mother and brother are fine, as am I. We're just north of the river and we'll be crossing it in the morning._

 _Oh!_ Stronger than he thought, she held his connection, waking as she did so. _You expect trouble, I can sense it._ How had she sensed that, he wondered. Probably the same way he could sense she was hiding some pain. _Do what you must, but please stay safe— for me._

 _Nothing to worry over. I make that promise to you, my angel. And you, are you well?_

 _Yes... I desperately miss you, I miss your arms holding me._

He sent across a mental embrace and she hummed at the sensation. _I will contact Muir as soon as the grain is on the road north, and I will call you again when we reach Coroth. We may be traveling at night, so I may not be able to contact you before then. Will you promise me to get your sleep?_

 _I will try_ , she said, knowing that she would likely not sleep the rest of that night.  
 _  
Promise me. It is easiest for me to call you in your dreams._

 _Then I will do nothing else but dream._

Wash laughed. _And that is why I love you._

 _With all my heart, I love you,_ she responded. He felt her smile as she turned in the bed and hugged his pillow close.


	9. Chapter 9

**Healer's Inheritance**

**Chapter 9 -The Road to Abbeyford**

On the fourth morning out of Cynfyn, rain blurred the detail of the rich farmlands along the road. Broken forests outlined each clearing, separating the parcels from one another. Some clearings held sheep that munched on stubble from the previous year's crops. Others lay fallow waiting to be harrowed. Nearly every open field had a cottage in a corner where smoke billowed above the rooflines and lights glittered through the shuttered casements. The travelers longed to take refuge from the rain, but no one complained. If each person dreamt of a favored, dry place, then they kept it to themselves so as not to be the first to admit the weather was misery. At an even pace the horses continued on. As a whole, the party was relieved when the road finally turned west to follow the Lendour River; they were nearing their midpoint destination and a place where they hoped to make camp. The road near the river was thick with puddles of mud, yet it appeared free of recent hoof prints or wagon wheel grooves. Few had come this way since the last storm or even the one before that. There was no logic to it, as this was the most direct route between Corwyn and Rhemuth, unless one chose to travel west to the coast at Nyford.

At mid-morning, the travelers out of Cynfyn came upon a sloping bank leading to the river's edge. The Knight Captain nodded his greeting to his lieutenant who had proven good to his word. Sir Dillon stood on the deck of the ferry, which was properly tied to a piling on the north bank.

"It would be my honor to welcome you to Abbeyford," Dillon called over the steady sound of rain drumming on the river's surface.

"We will be right glad to arrive on the south side of this river. I trust you know a safe place to set up camp; a place not too muddy, where the women's feet can stay dry?" Sir Washburn called back.

"Aye, we've a good knoll southeast of town," his lieutenant replied. Then in jest, he held out his hand, palm up, like he had only just noticed the rain. "This weather isn't to your liking, my lord? It is to mine. It has kept the locals in their homes and allowed me to offer a deal with this fine man." Dillon gestured toward the man hunched over the ropes which strained in the cleats as the barge knocked back and forth against the current.

"Good day to you, master helmsman," Wash acknowledged the ferryman. "My party and I seek your ferry to get us safely across. Will you give us permission to board? I have coin to pay for your efforts."

"So your man has brokered with me," the ferryman replied. He lifted his head to reveal a weathered face under an oiled hat that kept the rain at bay. "I've been promised ten coin and the strength of your men to use the winches to pull us across. Your man and I could handle the barge while empty, but loaded…? It will require two strong men as I'll be needed at the tiller." He pointed to the toothed wheel that would pull the barge along the rope stretched over the width of the river. "Curse the abbey for putting the fear of God in my workmen; they won't come near the ferry until it's allowed. If you have the coin, then that's the fee, otherwise you best keep riding west to Nyford."

"You've made this deal with my man, and I will back it. His agreement is mine. Just don't cheat me, and I promise I won't cheat you, I stand by my reputation." Wash looked the man straight in the eye. The ferryman shied back. The Knight Captain's honest reputation was well known, but so was the hearsay about his Deryni bloodline. Wash ignored the ferryman's discomfort. "I presume it will take three trips to get my party across."

"The barge can carry that many, if your horses remain calm," the ferryman said, his voice revealing some doubt.

"I'll manage the horses, there will be no need for concern," Wash replied, not mentioning the Deryni talent of handling animals. The ferryman nodded knowingly and made no further reply. _Can he be trusted?_ Wash asked privately of Dillon.

 _We're paying him three times his normal fee, and I have detected no lies in the multitude of questions he answered for me. Nevertheless, keep a wary eye on him._

Wash assigned two men to the wheel, and then motioned half the Tralian nobles off their mounts. Lord Kyriell handled five horses, including Lady Elzia's, Lady Cecilia's and his own. Washburn touched the muzzles of all these animals as they were led up the ramp onto the wooden deck, making pretense that he was the only Deryni here. In truth, however, he only needed his energies for a few of the horses, as Jathurn and Dillon inconspicuously lent their talent to calm most of them. Nothing more than a nicker and a flick of the tail came from the animals as they boarded. The Knight Captain indicated that Dillon should remain on the north shore, and then stepped on the deck with a serious eye on the old man in the large hat.

Paying the knight no more mind, the ferryman busied himself with their departure. He hoisted the end of the ramp off the bank, and he barked his orders to the two guards who took up positions on the winch that would turn the toothed wheel. Getting the coordination to turn the wheel smoothly was no easy trick. Water lapped against the flat hull, splashing over the boots of those at the front.

"You want us all flipped into the current? You imbeciles! Pay attention to what you're doing!" the ferryman demanded. The men took more care to pull the wheel evenly. When they reached the south bank there was a sigh of relief. This was a shallow part of the river in the dry season, but deep enough to drown in at this time of year.

A third of the travelers gratefully disembarked. Wash appointed one man to return with him. He and the Lendour guard turned the winch to get the barge back north. The second group, led by Dillon, completed the Tralian contingent and several of the Lendouri armsmen. Wash stayed behind. It wasn't too long before the ferry returned to make the last crossing. As the only Deryni remaining, this time Wash truly did calm each of the remaining horses as they were led up the ramp, including the pair of rounceys that pulled their wagon filled with their belongings and gear. Glad that he hadn't needed to use that much energy on the two prior crossings, Wash banished the small bit of fatigue that this crossing caused. He looked up to see the ferryman giving him a stern look, and then the old man made the sign of the cross against the use of magic.

"Would you rather have a boatload of fractious warhorses?" Wash inquired of the ferryman. "I'm sure you've dealt with a few of those in your day."

"Aye, my lord, and watched men drown when their steeds get rebellious. Times aplenty when a fearful horse slips off the deck taking many a man with him into the river. The horse usually finds the bank and climbs from the icy water, but the men never do. The current here is deadly and will drag a clothed man to his doom. The bodies do find the shoreline after a day or two." The old man said this with a wry grin as he eyed each of the Lendouri armsmen who held tight to the reins of their mounts. "Happens every year." Then the old man laughed for best effect. In turn, the men looked back to their Knight Captain for reassurance.

Wash only laughed. "Nasty business, that. Hard to get paid when your customers don't reach the far shore." He reached into his belt and tossed a heavy coin purse from hand to hand.

"Indeed. Sometimes the entertainment is worth the price." At his words, a heavy wind blew up the river and the barge strained into the ropes, water lapped over the deck. The men stood tense, but the horses neither flicked their ears nor their tail.

"As you see, Lendour horses are a stock above the rest. Well trained and versatile in any situation. Yours is not the first ferry they have ever been on. Nor will it be their last," Wash said with the barest hint of threat.

"Aye, animals of quality, that I can see. 'Tis a shrewd commander who leads them as well."

They were more than halfway across the river with the wind continuing its gusts. The barge held to the ropes, but it was the clouds above that blew about. A ray of sun gleamed through the billowing cloud bank. The sun beam shimmered across the river's surface and then increased in size. As the light shone against the remaining drizzle, a myriad of refracted colors arced over the water, giving promise of an end to the storm. The ferryman pointed out the sight, even as he eyed the nobleman's purse. Taking the sun beam as a sign from the heavens, the old helmsman let slip a smile that exposed a row of gnarled teeth. "Perhaps your coming is favored after all," he commented expressing a change of attitude. "That coin in your purse is well needed. My family grows hungry from the lack of business. I've worked hard all my life, earning an honest wage. Abbot Darby doesn't like your kind, neither much do I, but his decrees are out of spite and greed. They threaten the welfare of my family. The food promised by the monastery has not come to pass. That's why I'm here against the abbot's decree. That there tells me, I'm doing the right thing." The man nodded at the rainbow with its colors deepening in the light of the breaking sun.

"Then, I can count on you to keep the ferry open? With honest payment to ensure a _safe_ crossing? Soon there will be wagons loaded in need of finding the north road."

"Aye, I'll see to it. Although, it'd be easier if the decrees were lifted. Your men have strong arms, but it takes a bit of skill to handle this here barge when she's low in the waterline with heavy wagons. I need my own laborers for that."

"If I had a certain dispatch from the capital, I could do as you ask," Wash murmured almost to himself but loud enough to hear. "The way that it stands, getting what you ask may be a problem," Wash replied louder. Already he was planning how best to confront the abbot, and if need be, break through the barricade that was purposely in place to stop someone from doing just that.

"Dispatch, you say? I heard talk of a rider from Rhemuth this morning when I passed the main square." The ferryman cocked his head at the Knight Captain, waiting to see if his story would be of interest to the nobleman.

Wash turned to the old man almost instantly. "Tell me…!"

"In the past day or two, I heard tell of guards hiding in the ditches along the road west out of town. The town folk had joked about them lying out there in the rain. Seems this morning, they ambushed a lone rider. I overheard a guard telling the magistrate they'd surrounded the man with swords drawn; he'd held up a torn bit of cloth which looked to have the partial insignia of Rhemuth upon it. The guard then told how the man had fought back, wounding one of them and taking a wound himself before escaping."

As the ferryman spoke the Knight Captain's anger began to build. In the first place, just how had the Abbot gotten this news that a royal courier was in route? During the contact from the night before, Dillon had said such a rumor was already passing through the town. To retaliate, the magistrate had given the ruse of coastal raiders pillaging inland so as to rile the town folk, giving them cause to let the abbey confiscate all the goods in town. Wash knew that the only way for news to travel faster than horseback required a trained Deryni and one other, either Deryni or properly trained human, to receive that contact. It sickened Washburn to think that the men who hated Deryni the most gained knowledge and power by using and often abusing Deryni to act against their own kind.

"...Next thing, I see the magistrate rousting up his men. He was yelling that if they wanted their pay, then they had better catch this lone rider. For if he was the bearer of a dispatch from Rhemuth, the abbot desperately wanted that dispatch in his possession. I had no desire to get caught in that, so I left the square heading home. That's when your man confronted me and persuaded me to open the ferry. I figured with the rain and all the magistrate's men riding out, no one was around to notice us working this barge."

Washburn barely heard the ferryman's last words. He'd stepped closer to the old man and had begun to reach out to him, desperate to Mind-See exactly what the man had witnessed. It was with a sudden self-admonishment that he stopped and stepped back; that kind of magic would cause needless anxiety in his men who watched, not to say anything about the morality of such an act, no matter how benign Washburn's touch would be. It was one thing to calm horses, but to have a rapport with an unconsenting human was considered abuse of power. _And rightly so,_ Wash inwardly chastised. Angry with himself, the Deryni lord clenched his fists, and then forced an outward calmness as he mundanely asked for more information. "When did you say this was? Do you know which way they went?"

"They were pointing south… it was about Tierce," the old man said, sensing the agitation that his news brought to the Lendour knight, but not knowing the full reason why. "Are you thinking that this lone rider carries something that will force the abbot to reopen the road? Could be, could be. I would be worried for the man's life… it was Doggin who spearheaded the mob that chased the lone rider. He is a mean bastard, he is."

"They took the road, heading south?"

"Aye!"

Wash tossed the man the coin purse he'd been holding, which contained payment plus a bit more. "I thank you for your news. You will have your ferry freely open and your workmen after all, as soon as I clear up this mess." He studied the ferryman closely for a moment, knowing the man was quite pleased to be paid.

The old man grinned at the weight of the bag before hiding it in his clothes. "Thank you, my lord," he replied with a bow. "I do believe that you will."

The Knight Captain strode tensely off the barge the moment the ramp was lowered. He waved to Robby for his destrier. As the sorrel was brought to him, he began barking orders to Sir Dillon to take the contingent to the hill southeast of town, to make camp there, and guard it well. As he mounted up, he called two of his men to his side while calling out to the rest of his party, "We're going hunting! With a little luck, I intend to have this resolved by nightfall." Wash turned back to his lieutenant. "Don't do anything to stir up more trouble today. If I'm not back by morning, you have permission to tear that barricade apart and get yourselves free of this town."

"May I join you?" Baron Jathurn requested. "I have no desire to spend the day sitting in a tent."

"This won't be a peaceful ride." Wash motioned to his sword.

The baron laughed. "Good, your country so far has seemed tame by the standards of its reputation."

"Very well! Let us go and find us some sport!" Wash yelled, putting spurs to his horse's flank. He was too focused on his pursuit to note the motion behind him, but soon enough Jathurn and his man with two Lendouri armsmen were matching strides with Sir Washburn's destrier. The five riders made good speed on the muddied road traveling south.

Though the weather had drizzled most of the morning, it had not washed away the deep impressions of fast-moving horses south of Abbeyford. Skillful tracking was not required, even after the trail led off the road and over unplowed fields and small thickets. The trail of hoof prints ended at a shallow creek, but with the water churned into mud, it wasn't hard to tell which direction the riders had gone, and fairly recently too. Given, of course that the tracts they followed were indeed the magistrate's men on the path of the royal courier whom they sought. Wash hoped the lone rider had given these hunters the slip. Yet if he had done so, the Knight Captain knew he might not retrieve what he needed in time to make a difference.

They were two hours out of Abbeyford when they caught a whiff of wood smoke in the midst of the trees lining the creek. They found a cart road near the stream which traversed the tree line; it led toward a rain-drenched clearing. As the riders came nearer, they sighted a farm with a few acres of bare field awaiting the spring planting. There was a cottage of modest size, with stone walls and a thatched roof; a column of smoke lazily rose up from a cleft in the back wall. A wooden structure stood behind the house; chickens and sheep wandered freely in and out of the barn door. The oddity in this peaceful setting was the gathering of nine horses tied together before the cottage's main door. Certainly the barn was not big enough to stable that many horses. Neither a man nor a child could be seen about, and the cottage held no windows to betray what was happening inside.

The Knight Captain had his men halt at the edge of the trees. He motioned his two armsmen to ride around to the barn. To Jathurn and his man, Castor, he indicated that they should tie their steeds in the shadows of the brush and walk from there. With a keen eye on the door, they paced the hundred steps across the open field. Still, no motion at the door indicated they'd been seen. The three slipped between the horses and examined their gear. Rough woven blankets under poor leather saddles held emblems of the Abbeyford guards. All but one horse. This destrier's saddle was of considerable better quality than the rest, proving that the magistrate's men had run someone to ground.

On inspection, under the lather of damp salty sweat, the quality bay had the mark of Cassan on his hip, an emblem not often seen this far south. The destrier held one leg off the ground with a gash across the fetlock and blood crusted on the hoof—a possible injury from running along the creek's rocky bottom. A second splash of blood was found smeared across the steed's neck. A quick inspection proved this blood not to be from the horse; likely it belonged to the rider who'd been pulled from his seat. No saddle bags were seen, only cut leather thongs where the bags should have been. The torn pennant of a messenger out of Rhemuth was found tucked under the saddle. Washburn's frown deepened. He motioned toward the cottage door. They needed to be quick if surprise was to remain their advantage. Swords at the ready, the three surrounded the door.

"Hold him! Damn you!" yelled a rough voice from within. A clamor of noise, then a curse. "You wan'a-be dead? Slit your throat I will, if you try that again!" Sounds of a struggle continued.

The Knight Captain wasted no time. He shoved the door open and charged in. At the far side of the room, a man strung up by his wrists from the rafters was kicking out at his assailants. Two men were struggling to hold him as a third man was searching him like robbers frisking a corpse. Only this man was not dead, not yet! Although he looked to be not far from getting himself in that condition.

With all eyes on the struggle, none of the Abbeyford guards reacted to the intruding new sound, save one. Wash was on this man even as he turned; he never got a chance to raise up his weapon. In an instant the guard crumbled from the flat of Wash's sword smacking the back of his neck below his skullcap. Jathurn caught the man's sword before it banged against the stone, and then he pressed his palm over the man's eyes to be assured the guard would stay unconscious through the chaos about to erupt.

The next two men turned at the commotion, meeting the black knight's stern gaze. With little hesitation, they lunged at Wash, thinking their numbers an advantage. Seven to three—were these intruders fools? The Knight Captain proved the error of that thought. With a swift cut and twist, one man lost his sword and a bit of his hand. The other was shoved aside only to run into Jathurn's blade. Jathurn shook his head at the man's stupidity.

The five men left standing belatedly turned and took a fierce stance to defend what they'd hunted down. Their prey, newly freed from the frisking, cursed his attackers, spitting out a bloody mouthful as he did so. This only won him a punch low in the gut and left him groaning as he swung from the rope that strung him just above the floor.

"This business is none of your business!" growled the biggest man standing before his captive.

"That man is my business. King's business. You're Doggin, I presume. In the name of the King, I demand that you let that man go," the Knight Captain ordered.

"I see no King! I've got my orders and they don't come from you! You want this man? I'll give you a deal— when I get what I need, I'll leave you his bones and his gold, all yours— when I'm done!" The big man tossed a satchel of gold at Jathurn's feet, thinking him the best dressed and therefore the most likely to take the bribe.

The baron raised his eyes at the two coins that spilled from the laden coin purse which slid across the floor. "I'm not here for gold, but I'll take these and return them to their rightful owner." The baron wrapped his sword point over the purse strings and flipped it up into his hand. A ruffian thought to take advantage of the nobleman's distraction. His poor judgment was met with a strong block and a swift cut. Then Castor intervened and shoved the man away from his liege lord. With one disarming strike the man, bloodied, was added to the three wounded in the corner.

Washburn stepped closer, causing the four remaining Abbeyford guards to step back. Now they were in the reach of the beaten man swinging from the rafter. The royal messenger had been twisting and churning within his binds. Realizing that Doggin's back was finally near enough, the captured man kicked out and managed a blow that unsettled the big man's balance. Unfortunately, the force sent the messenger into a chaotic spin.

Wash used the advantage. He lunged, gouging a chunk out of Doggin's sword, but three other swords blocked him from doing more. As one, they shoved their sword points where Washburn had been standing. The knight was lighter on his feet than he seemed. He danced aside, sweeping a table over to bring an end to their barrage.

"Wash, is't you?" yelled the courier as he swung from tied wrists. His words were pronounced in a thick border brogue. Recognition brought a thin smile to one side of his face, the side unbloodied. As he twisted again, trying to turn to face Wash, he called, "Ye're a hearty sight f'r sore eyes." At least that is what he tried to say through swollen lips. His tunic was slashed, exposing rent chainmail and blood oozing from beneath. Wash stared for a moment and couldn't believe who he saw.

"Roger?" Wash yelled, rage swelling in his chest. Here was a friend, a young man who'd recently squired for Muir, a nobleman from the north. "What in God's name are you doing here?" Moving closer, Wash's next attack proved his anger was up; the guard before him went down without so much as a sound.

"The King thought me the best man to deliver you a letter," Roger called back, while kicking outward in the hopes that someone would fall within his reach.

Doggin and one other leaped at Washburn. The third man turned toward the easier target, the nobleman in his fine clothes. Jathurn had turned away to force back a man rising from the floor. He did not see the third man who was planning a killing blow. "Jathurn!" Wash yelled from across the room. In that instant the baron's back was open, but then Castor was there blocking the deadly attack. Feeling the concussion of blade striking blade, Jathurn ducked and rolled to the ground. He then spun on his knees only to see Castor weaken under a succession of blows. The attacking third man didn't see Jathurn stand. Almost stealth-like the Deryni Lord came up behind the attacker, landing a fierce blow upside the man's head with the hilt of his sword. The attacker crumpled to the floor beside the baron's best man, who'd been forced to onw knee. Jathurn took a moment to help Castor recover his footing, while pointing his sword in warning at the rest of the downed guards, threatening them to stay where they lay.

Wash drew the last two away from Roger and Jathurn, toward the back of the room. Two swords against one. The one never faltered; only the low ceiling beams and the furniture gave reason for concern. It seemed a concern that the Abbeyford guards appeared to ignore. Abusing this flaw, Wash stepped purposely under a rafter. His opponent swung high over his head. His whole body shook as the blade embedded itself deep within the roughhewn beam.

The black knight gave a wicked grin, teasing the big man to do the same. Doggin made an angry growl and swung his sword low and wide. Wash countered with a solid strike that shattered the big man's blade and sent steel skittering over the floor. For a moment the sound stunned those in the room. In fierce desperation, Doggin attacked with his halved, jagged blade, counting on his strength and weight to defeat his enemy. Wash jumped back, shoving aside two chairs. Space was getting tight in the low-ceilinged back corner of the room. Time had come to end this game.

Like a stag ramming his antlers at his opponent, the knight captain pushed off the wall, his sword arched across the broken weapon, severing it from the big man's grasp. A second blow bit into Doggin's shielding arm likely saving the man from Wash's deadly anger. With a yell of pain, the Abbeyford leader fell back. Hounded by the black knight, he skittered backward along the floor, only to come upon Castor's boots. The owner of those boots, kicked the big man in the head, sending Doggin reeling under Roger's feet. Roger's spurred boot slammed the man in the shoulder, justly returning the wounds he had received at this man's hands. But as Doggin writhed and groaned, his eyes widened at a glimpse of parchment protruding from Roger's boot-top. Too quickly, the big Abbeyford guard seized Roger's leg, hauled himself up, and pulled the letter free from its hiding place.

"Stop him!" growled Roger, instantly enraged.

Jathurn was the first to realize the trouble. He ran for the door where the Abbeyford guard had just made his escape. Unable to follow, Washburn growled, "We're done!" at the last guard who was just reaching for a fallen friend's sword. Wash stomped his boot-heel upon the sword. His anger flared. Had he just lost his prize? With barely held restraint, he stopped his own sword just short of the man's throat. "Don't tempt me!" he snarled. Sir Washburn blazed his crimson aura, giving full warning that he was in control. Wisely, the guard backed away, and the wounded men on the floor cowered from the proof that a Deryni lord had them defeated.

Concern for his friend kept Wash from following the others outside. He turned to help the youth who was still swinging from the rope around his wrists. All too recently this son of a border-clan chieftain had squired for his brother during the battle at Rengarth. At the height of the battle, even as King Jasher was cut down, Muir's squire had succeed in getting a warning message through to Prince Cluim, a message that alerted the prince of hidden enemy on their flank, reducing that surprise and giving time for Washburn and his men to come to the prince's defense. Prince Cluim not only survived the attack, but continued on to defeat the Torenthi army. Months later, the newly crowned King Cluim recognized the young man's heroic deed. He requested Roger to become his personal squire. An honor that not only the boy's father but his maternal grandfather accepted with pride.

This royal squire, at the moment however, was feeling worthless in his latest task. He grimaced as he slurred the words, "I failed you."

Reaching over Roger's head, Wash cut the rope from the beam. He kept the young man from stumbling forward when his feet hit the ground. Pulling a chair over and righting a table, Wash sat his friend down, and helped him free his hands from the rope.

"Not your best day, is it?" Wash remarked while surveying the mess and being sure that Castor kept the wounded where they lay.

"Not when I fail a royal assignment!" Roger declared with a look of defeat. His left eye was swollen shut, the other was downcast and would not meet Washburn's gaze.

Sensing the commotion outside, which Roger's limited abilities could not discern, Wash grinned back at the royal squire. "You haven't failed yet, good lad, I believe you're about to hand me a royal dispatch." Wash nodded toward the door as it reopened. Jathurn stepped through with a smug smile and a sealed parchment tight in his grasp. Once he'd entered, the two Lendour armsmen drug between them the beaten, barely conscious, big Abbeyford guard. They dropped Doggin on the floor in the midst of his defeated men.

The cleanup was quick. The two armsmen gathered up the weapons. They used saddle-leathers to tie the guards' hands behind their backs. The Abbeyford guard's severest wounds were bandaged. When Jathurn went looking for more cloth, he discovered the cottage's family locked in the cellar. The farmer was a bit dismayed at first; he kept out a wary eye on everyone. Once he determined the worst was over, he was quick enough to get his boys to settle the room and have his wife and daughter bring out more linen for bandages. Roger was given a better seat before the hearth, to let the farmer's wife help remove his chain mail and see to his wounds.

When everything proved to be under control, the Knight Captain returned to Roger's side with a full tankard of ale. "You, my friend, found a hard way to deliver me a letter. How was it you were the one chosen to carry it?"

"I volunteered my services," the royal squire said, clenching his teeth, as some of the ale was poured over his wound. With a grimace, Roger declared, "I'd rather drink that, if you don't mind!" He took the mug away from Wash. He didn't flinch when Wash touched his hand. He even lowered his rudimentary shields, which he had inherited from an ancestor that Roger would not name, to let the Knight Captain send energy to help reduce the pain. After that, and another swig of ale, his color returned to his face. "The King had considered the possibility of danger. He wanted someone loyal to you, with fighting skills as well as speed. I'd have been here yesterday, if I had not been ambushed outside of Nyford. It took me all day to outrace them. This morning, I should have known I would not be in the clear at the town gates. A stupid mistake on my part that I will not make again." He grimaced once more at the pain as the farmer's wife cleaned his shoulder.

"Not if you want to survive long enough to achieve knighthood." Wash laughed at the look his friend made. "Drink up, I declare you're going to live, at least through today."

Roger took another swig and then let the farmer's wife bind his shoulder. When she was done he downed the rest of the tankard, then thanked her. After a moment, Roger nodded toward Baron Jathurn. "Rumor in Rhemuth has you married. Lord Kyriell is now a brother-in-law?" He grimaced as he laughed. "How the devil did a woman capture your heart so soon after the war?"

"Not the devil, my friend. An angel—an angel from up high. Perhaps the day will come when you'll discover the same."

"I'm afraid I'm already spoken for. My parents ensured my betrothal the day that they heard I'd survived Rengarth. I marry on my twenty-first birthday." The young man laughed at the Knight Captain's look of dismay. "That's five years from now! Don't worry, she is a pretty lass. Made of money, she is, since she had become heiress with the death of her brothers and her first betrothed when they fell as King Jasher fell. The family is in deep mourning right now, but they see the need to ensure their lands are well kept. I just have to keep in the King's good graces and live long enough to be that old."

"Twenty-one? That old? You insolent whelp!" Wash said with feigned offense. "It wasn't so long ago when I taught you to fight, my friend. Finding you this way today makes me think you've forgotten what I taught you. You keep on forgetting, and you won't live to be the ripe old age of twenty-one!"

"T'is this, I know," Roger slurred as he pulled away from the farmer's wife who had touched his face with a damp cloth. Wash just laughed and gestured for him to drink more ale.

"Honestly, I haven't forgotten. They caught me before I had reached the town gate, coming up behind me from the river's edge. I fought well enough against four men to get away. I thought I had lost them at the stream. That was my mistake! My horse and I had been traveling all night and now running all morning. He'd caught his legs in the rocks and I was washing out the wound. That was when they came upon me." The young man frowned. "Thank you for the rescue, otherwise I'd likely be dead." Wash nodded to the truth of that statement, but then the youth gave a laugh at his near miss. "If I don't get myself killed building my reputation with the King, then my heiress will be mine, soon enough. If I do get myself killed..." He shrugged, and then winced at the pain that motion caused. "...I guess I wouldn't then be worthy of her earldom. Wouldn't you agree, Baron Kyriell?" Roger grinned at the baron who came toward the hearth.

"I can see your point," the Tralian nobleman agreed.

"Jathurn, let me acquaint you with Roger McLain, the son of Laird Andrew McLain and a grandson of the Duke Tammaron of Cassan. My brother had the pleasure of squiring this audacious borderer for the last two years, who rightly earned a Haldane squire's tunic just this fall. Apparently, his antics at playing royal courier are twofold, to get us this letter from his Majesty and to earn his right to better me as the Earl of Kierney someday."

"I wish you success in your future endeavors," Jathurn replied.

Roger smiled a lopsided smile, "Thanks to you, I have succeeded so far. Though how I am going to explain this, I am uncertain." He nodded to the guards tied on the floor who would not meet his gaze. They were well aware of the trouble they were in. That none of them were dead was a miracle, though a few needed better care than then they would get here. "Don't we need to get back, to make that letter worth all this trouble? I can ride, and it is time we let these good people have their farm back, don't you think?"

The knight captain soon agreed and organized the wounded Abbeyford guards to be placed on their horses and bound to their saddles. Two men were forced to ride together to give Roger a horse, as his had become too lame to move on.

"Take good care of that northern stallion's leg," Washburn said to the farmer as he handed across a writ of ownership. "He will sire you quality foals that you can sell for good coin in the years to come. Here's some coin to see him fed. You won't regret our coming or our going, I'm thinking."

With that, Wash led the way back to Abbeyford, his men guarding the eight defeated magistrate's men. They reached the gates after sundown. The magistrate and the abbot frowned deeply when they saw the Lendour Knight Captain use the captured guards as hostages to force the gatekeeper to open the gates. Wash wasted no time in presenting his royally sealed letter to the abbot before the gathering town folk. Accusing these men of assaulting His Majesty's courier, the knight captain had the guards arrested. He continued to threaten Royal displeasure upon the monastery, stating the King would soon learn just who ordered these men to waylay a royal dispatch. The abbot backed off from the magistrate and was quick to denounce him and his guards for acting out their own greedy scheme, against the advice of the Church. He ordered the magistrate locked up with his men in their own cells until a trial for their crimes could be arranged by Steward Barlum of the Duchy of Haldane. Refuting any association with the magistrate, Abbot Darby quickly declared all goods that were being held within the protective walls of the monastery to be returned to their rightful owners, including Lendour's grain. By morning's first light, the barricade was down and the Lendour grain was on the ferry crossing the river to the north road.

Royal squire Roger McLain, after a good night's sleep under the care of Baroness Elzia, took his leave of the Knight Captain and joined Sir Dillon with most of the Lendouri armsmen to go north. Wash handed the royal squire a long letter addressed to the King, giving a full account of the events that had transpired and praising the royal squire for his bravery. The letter was sure to raise the King's ire. In truth, however, Wash had doubts if the new King had yet gained enough influence with the archbishop to force Abbot Darby to face an ecclesiastical court. The abbot's claim of innocence was most certainly false, but the use of Truth-Reading to prove it would only further harm the tenuous relations between Deryni and the Church. Wash knew better than to pursue the matter further. No one had died and he had achieved his goal. That was good enough for now. Meanwhile he still had the Tralian party to escort south to Corwyn. Wash kept Robby and six men with him to see them safely to Castle Coroth, where they arrived two days later.


	10. Chapter 10

Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 10

Castle Coroth

December 31, 985

The month of December was near it's end. The next dawn would see the day of the Blessed Virgin Mary with a special morning observance, followed by a farewell to the new members of his family; family that he had guardianship of until the change of the tide on the morrow. Washburn regretted that his lovely Jessamyn was not here to see her mother and brother on their way across the sea, but he was glad she was safe at Castle Cynfyn and had not had to endure the last week's travel, nor the coming week's ride to get home. Although the hours in the saddle were long, the last few days had passed easily enough, with a good fellowship building between Baron Jathurn and himself. His brother-in-law was a learned man. He offered insight on the well-being of their people, and the general welfare of the Deryni who had fled the persecutions within Gwynedd decades ago. Those refugees had escaped with nothing but what was on their backs. However, a generation later, they fared far better in the kingdoms of the South-east than they would have had they stayed in Gwynedd. Washburn related back how few of their kind had remained in their homeland, and how but a handful still maintained their ancestral homes. Most who had survived the _harrowing_ were scattered in places of hiding. A few of whom had found refuge within the mountains of Lendour, but Wash would not divulge just where. He told Jathurn that his own family was likely the only one that survived openly at court, and then so, only by the grace of the King. Wash steadfastly believed that the Cynfyn loyalty to the crown, like that of his father before him, and now of his brother and his own were the best way to combat the intolerance of humans. One day, he hoped, their loyalties would help break down the wall's of distrust and bring about reform from the repressive stance against the Deryni in Gwynedd.

The Tralian party and Lendour escort crossed out of the Duchy of Haldane and into the Duchy of Corwyn. Not so very long ago, less than a year, this boundary would have meant leaving the Kingdom of Gwynedd and entering the independent Deryni Duchy. Although the border no longer prevailed, the entourage as a whole felt relief in entering the lands ruled over by the well respected Duke of Corwyn. At the first tavern they came to, it was instantly apparent that the people of Corwyn were far more respectful to the Tralian delegation than had been the lowlanders of Gwynedd. And to Washburn's surprise, to his Lendour insignia as well. To be sure, Tralia and Corwyn were on good terms; a far more solid relationship than that which Lendour and Corwyn had only recently begun to share. The duchy and the sovereign principality had a history of collaboration when it came to monitoring the Twin River deltas and the traffic that passed through their mutual ports. Each also, had a sizable fleet of vessels, which by treaty maintained trade across the Southern Sea. The Earldom of Lendour, on the other hand, had only come to befriend the duchy in the last year. Even in the eyes of the common-folk, it was clear that the threats of Torenth had been a great enough catalyst to form new bonds with their western neighbor. The innkeeper had been friendly at their mid-morning break. And when they arrived at the gates of Coroth that afternoon, the guards greeted them openly and escorted them into the great hall of Coroth Castle and the presence of their ruling Duke.

The formalities of greeting transpired quickly. The entourage was made welcome and given rooms to divest themselves from the dirt of the road. An hour later, Duke Jernian invited his guests into his private solar. Here his duchess was seated with her back to the warmth of the sun that shone brightly after the passing of the last storm. The sunlight gleamed low across the expanse of the sea that glistened blue beyond the castle walls. Duchess Procida, daughter of Reynard IV Duc du Joux of the house of Buyenne-Furstan, was a stunning lady. Her straw-colored hair hung in twists of green ribbons to the floor, and her soft round face was pale in the sunlight. Where Duke Jernian was a year or two younger than Wash, the Lendour knight guessed that her grace was a year or two older than his own lady. At her grace's feet, her son, barely a toddler, sat in a midst of six small puppies with coats of red and white, and black and white with tan markings, all of whom seemed to joyfully frolic around the boys feet and legs. The puppies' mother, a pretty tri-color, slept in the sunlight at the duchess side. The little dog seemed at ease with the small child and his playing with her brood.

"Welcome to my home Baron Kyriel, and welcome Highness Elzia." Wash was a little surprised that the duchess deferred to the dowager Baroness's secret higher rank. "With you, I presume, is the renowned Knight Captain of Cynfyn. I have heard much about you these past months, Sir Washburn."

"Duchess Procida," Wash greeted the noble lady with a respectful bow, "and Lord Stiofan." He extended his bow to the young boy. "I hope what you have heard is favorable, my lady. May I say what a handsome young man you have at your feet? I was there on the field this last spring when his grace received the news of his son's birth. It is my honor to meet you both."

Procida tilted her head toward her guest in acceptance. "Sir Washburn, I am glad Corwyn and Lendour were able to fight side by side. Our families have much to recommend to each other. As to the day of Stiofan's birth, I am told Lord Jernian did a dance when he got the news. As I have not been able to imagine my lord performing in such a manner, perhaps you can convince me that it was so?"

Wash gave a light laugh at the duke's embarrassment, "I can assure you that such a tale is nothing but the truth. A heartening little jig, as I recall."

Jathurn raised his brow in mirth and spoke up before Duke Jernian could protest. "That, my lady, would indeed be a father's prerogative. I dare say, I did much the same last year when my son was born."

"And you, Sir Washburn, will likely do the same when your wife grants you a son." The duke clasped the baron's brother-in-law on the shoulder, well aware of the knight's new marriage from stories that were told when Jathurn and Elzia arrived on his shores a month ago.

Lady Elzia was quick to bend down to the small puppies and lift one up from the litter. "I know who would love to have you," she said, brushing the little black and white face next to her own.

"When the time comes, though it may ruin my reputation as a staunch commander, I too will promise to do a little jig," replied the knight in black. Both men laughed and clapped the shoulder of the Knight Captain..

The duke was ever gracious to his guests. He put forth an extravagant dinner feast, the last to be had before the great feast of Twelfth Night. So it wasn't the duke's appetite nor the quality of entertainment that caused Duke Jernian's mood to turn sour as the night progressed. Wash was well aware that his news from the road had not been taken lightly. During dinner, as Wash had told the story of his difficulty with the magistrate of Abbeyford and with the abbot of New Argoed, the Deryni Duke of Corwyn grew hauntingly serious. Here was a political difficulty that could stir up trouble for Corwyn in the future.

During the winter the year before, in the lull of the war with Torenth, King Jasher had approached Duke Jernian with an offer of alliance between his independent Duchy of Corwyn and the Kingdom of Gwynedd. Imer II, Pretender of Gwynedd, had fortified his defenses in his stronghold at Rengarth just north of the duchy's border. King Jasher was preparing to route the enemy from his lands and he wanted to be sure the Pretender would not escape into Corwyn. Duke Jernian was thusly forced into a bad position: either he must openly invite Imer into his land, become besieged by the Pretender's greater army as it raced south, or ally himself with Gwynedd to assault the Pretender in his palace hideaway ending Imer's reign of destruction, but forever aligning himself against Toronth. King Jasher had forced the issue; choose Torenth or choose Gwynedd, Corwyn could no longer stand independent between the two greater warring kingdoms. Corwyn allied itself with Gwynedd and together on the thirtieth day of May, the two armies united to besiege Imer at Rengarth.

Both Muir and Wash were well aware that if the treaty had failed, Gwynedd would still be at war and Torenth might just have gained Corwyn for its own, leaving Lendour hard pressed to hold Gwynedd's eastern borders. But the alliance was a success. On the second of June, the gates of Rengarth had been breached. The futures of two kingdoms teetered back and forth during the onslaught of the day's battle: Jasher, Gwynedd's King, lost his life in the early hours: an earl's squire and his knight captain discovered and destroyed the enemies hidden northern flank saving the life of the crown prince, the man who did not even know yet that he was King: the new king survived to rejoin his main army at noon. In the lull in the battle, it was Lord Muir who presented King Cluim with the Ring of Fire and the Eye of Rom and in private with Washburn attending performed the Deryni Ritual that was King Jasher's dying decree. Even as the ritual was taking place, Duke Jernian, loyal to his new kingdom, had trapped the Pretender in his palace and had sent word back of his eminent capture. King Cluim, still dazed and uncertain of the rituals success for the right to hold the powers of his kingship, allowed Lord Muir to lead him to the duke. In short time all three men were pressed into a private battle with Imer and his Deryni aides, who'd they'd cornered on the Palace's roof-line. Few would know of the battle that commenced; a battle of powers with three men on each side. The powers of the west overwhelmed the abilities of the east. As a last ditch effort, Imer stole the life force of his aides and infused it with his own to defeat Gwynedd's new King. His effort failed. The three of the west turned his energy back onto him and pushed him to the precipice of the tower wall. Rather than be destroyed by his enemy, Imer lept from the great height, his body shattering on the cobblestones before the King's army at the tower's feet.

Two bloody years and the war was at an end. The price of victory had not been cheap. Gwynedd had lost two kings, and Corwyn had lost its autonomy. The last independent half of the ancient Kingdom of Mooryn, had become annexed into the greatest of the Eleven Kingdoms. The beneficial alliance forged during a time of war, was proving to be far more complicated for Corwyn's policies now that peace had crossed the land. Much of the problem stemmed from the House of Corwyn being openly Deryni, and how this Deryni Duchy was to handle its daily business with the prejudices of the human population of Gwynedd.

"So, now I have to get permission from the King to sell my goods?" The dinner had ended and the men had retired to the withdrawing room at the back of the main hall. The musicians could be heard playing a lively tune beyond the door.

"I can assure you, King Cluim does not hold to the Statutes of Ramos," Sir Washburn proclaimed, although his words failed to ease the duke's temper. Nonetheless, he continued to try. "He does not see the necessity of it. The few known Deryni under his rule are faithful and loyal to him." With regret, his voice turned harsh. "It is, however, the Church which has pushed the issue, with its narrow minded point of view and its historical antipathy toward our kind. If my men had stayed clear of the town and stuck to the road, as I had requested, I am sure the matter would have been avoided altogether."

"The turning of the weather is not the fault of your men, Sir Washburn, and neither is the acceptance of shelter where it is offered. It is a customary law to offer hospitality with the promise of safety for both the traveler and the host. If this basic Christian ethic is being abused…?" The duke smacked the corner of his desk and walked across to the map tapestry of old Mooryn which hung along the wall. He ran his finger along the line that had until recently separated his duchy from his western neighboring kingdom. "I tied myself to Gwynedd because I had been led to believe that the tide of hate was ebbing, and that men like us could prove our worth for the greater good of all mankind. That if we showed ourselves to be loyal, strong, and faithful, we could change the devastation of the past seventy years. Now, what you tell me, proves that we are sticking our necks out only to get our heads lopped off."

"Your grace, it is nowhere near that! I promise you. Muir and I are on a positive standing with the King. He is only newly crowned and may not have the authority— yet— to stamp down the aggressiveness of the Church, but I assure you, he has the capability of becoming a great King. With the backing of Lendour and now Corwyn, we will see changes in our lifetime."

The duke turned and nodded in agreement with the knight from Lendour. "If it weren't for Lendour's steadfastness in both its loyalties to our kind and to our king, I might not have been so inclined to join the west rather than the east. I value the Cynfyn name and admire your family for neither losing to, nor hiding from, the prejudices of men. Would that other families had survived and held out as Cynfyn has. There are so few of us left in the west. I can count on my hands the number that I know to be of the blood."

"There are more of us than you may be aware of, your grace. Lendour is a wilderness of many hidden secrets."

Baron Jathurn looked into the goblet he'd brought with him from the dinner table which was now empty. They were alone in the withdrawing room, without a page to refill it. "Lendour is not the only place with secrets. There are others as well. May I?" he asked, as he stepped toward the table with a fresh decanter of red wine. He held the attention of both men as he poured himself half a glass and sampled a taste of the wine. "This is an exceptional vintage of Fianna. My compliments."

"My ship captains know how to trade for the best," the duke commented. "You mention secrets, my dear baron. For a bottle of my best wine, what secrets would you be willing to trade?"

"Do not tempt me," the baron laughed. "Your wine is of the very best. But even for that, I am not able to share most secrets. There is one, however, that I am willingly to divulge. I do so, not for your wine, but because you, Lord Washburn are family, and you, Lord Jernian are in a position to lend support to those who could use it. Not all my relatives fled Gwynedd. A few have stayed behind. Some changed their names and their identities, and some married into good families."

"Human families?" the duke said with some disdain. "Half-breeds don't interest me."

"Some of them should!" the baron shot back fiercely. Jathurn waved the two other men closer, feeling the need for discretion in what he would say next. "The Duchy of Cassan is changing its perception do to the efforts of a few "half-breeds". Cousins of mine, actually, who are fighting the battle from the inside."

Wash considered what he knew of Cassan. Indeed, Deryni blood had been added into the family line. Squire Roger was proof, but he did not know how far back the talent led.

Duke Jernian, on the other hand, was offended by even the name of that highland duchy, which was as large as his own, but on the opposite corners of the kingdom. "Cassan?" Jernian queried in the midst of grimacing with disgust. "Why would Cassan open its line to Deryni? Are they not the bane of half our troubles?"

"Let me preface this by saying that the Duchy of Cassan is no longer swayed by men such as the duke's grandfather, that Earl of Sheele, _Rhun the Ruthless!_ " Jathurn practically spat the name. "Certainly, you've heard of him. Lord save us from men like that. He was one reason my father was forced from Gwynedd in his youth. That man's teachings were what brought down my father's house just a few years after his return to Rhemuth. Horrible fire! So much lost!" Jathurn shook his head at the memories. "My father had other family, aunts mostly, who settled in the northern highlands. I doubt it was by design, but their children of the next two generations have succeeded in bringing a subtle change to a house that was known for hunting Deryni to our near extinction."

"Change? What kind of change?" Wash inquired. "Are we talking about Muir's squire, Roger McLain? He may earn Keirney by a good marriage, but unless there is a great upset, he will never inherit Cassan."

"Not McLain, exactly. Although, he appears to be a bright young man. One which I thank you for introducing to me. Did you know, we are cousins, he and I, after a fashion? Did you ever question him about where those shields of his came from?"

"I did, and the answer was from a lady who was full Deryni a few generations back, but he would say no more on which lady that was. I have not heard of any Deryni in the McLain or Cassan family trees. I am left to wonder at a secret that has been hidden so well."

"It is a secret known to my family, but not to outsiders. Cynfyn as well as Corwyn have been too prominent as known Deryni families for those who wish to remain hidden to be associated with. Just being seen with you, leads to suspicion. Your young Roger has had to walk a fine line to keep from being discovered, especially now that he is under the service of your King. I hope he knows that and treads with care."

"I am certain he will manage," Washburn said confidently. "So an aunt of yours married into Cassan? That is commendable and very dangerous. I wonder who she is. Surely, you don't mean Duke Tammaron's mother, and her old family claim to the name von Horthy? It would be impossible for her to be Deryni, not with a father like Rhun the Ruthless."

"Lady Adelicia of Horthness!" Jathurn said the name with disdain, "She was in no way related to my uncle, the Hort of Orsal. No matter how many generations removed they claim! That story is a crock of…! Never mind that story."

Washburn raised a brow, taken back by what was obviously an old family wound. "Indeed? On that score, I had wondered."

Jernian lifted the decanter of wine and filled his guest's goblets. "Do you intend to tell us how this McLain has shields and why change has come to Cassan, or do we have to continue to guess." The Duke filled his own goblet, swirled the wine within, and then took in a deep sniff. "970, a very fine year for Fianna. I do have a few bottles of it in my cellar," he proclaimed as a bribe.

"You drive a hard bargain," the baron said with his own sip of the precious wine. "For one bottle of wine, I will give you one name. However, I expect you to honor the person I name and to help protect her and her children and her children's children in the years to come."

"The queen is a daughter of the Duke of Cassan, is she not?" Jernian interjected.

"Aye, she is," was all Baron Jathurn would say.

Jernian whistled at the ramifications of such a highly placed human family having hidden Deryni blood lines. "Sir Washburn, you are looking thoughtful. You have an idea who the lady is?"

"My recent marriage has caused me to do some sleuthing into her family line. That information has overlapped with some of what I know of the courtiers of Rhemuth. Yes, I believe I have figured it out. But it is not my secret to tell."

"Your grace," Jathurn said, gaining both men's attention. "Until this year, you have had little reason to closely examine the human nobility of Gwynedd. I would not expect you to know the family history of the current Duchess of Cassan. There are only a handful of people who know the truth. The Duchess Tiphane is a daughter of the honorable Lady Rhysel Ainselle, who was the sister of my father's father?"

The duke gave a surprised look. "Wait! I know for a fact that old Lord Ainselle was human. Are you saying that the current lord of Old Argoed, I cannot recall his name, has Deryni blood?"

The baron smiled, but his eyes were intently watching the duke. "Lord Javyl, is the current Lord of Old Argeod. He inherited the title from his grandfather, Lord Ainselle. Javyl may appear to be human by hiding behind his father's ancestry, but he has a bit of his mother's training inside that head of his. Old Ainselle's son Robert married Rhysel Ainselle Thuryn, a daughter of Lord Rhys Thuryn. Do I have to remind you who Sir Robert and Lady Rhysel's children are? Lord Javyl to be sure, but also he had two daughters. One of those daughters is the current Duchess of Cassan, the Lady Tiphane. Who in turn had a daughter who married a Prince Haldane. A prince how has now become King."

Jernian gave an appreciative whistled. "A granddaughter of the infamous Camber of Culdi hides her heritage by marrying a simple knight and births half-breeds to infiltrate the nobles of Gwynedd. That is a coup, I must say. Although, I don't approve. A waste of pure blood, if you ask me."

"I do not think Saint Camber would agree with you." Jathurn said a little sharply. "May I remind you, your grace, that the blessed Camber of Culdi is also my great grandfather. I…" Jathurn let slip to Wash a mental image of the Christmas Mass from just days ago, when the Saint's apparition had appeared before them. His awe of that moment sifted through the link. "We all do what we can to help our people. My father was separated from my aunts at a young age. He fled to Tralia where he meet my mother. My aunts and my great aunts may not have had the luxury of escaping. I know one great aunt married into a powerful, yet hidden Deryni family; how though, were the other's to find Deryni husbands? In Gwynedd there were very few to have survived the harrowing." All three men instinctively said their own little prayer for the mention of the horrors of seventy years ago. "I realize most fathers of good training would rather see their progeny cloistered off within a convent rather than have them married off to humans, but change has to come from somewhere. Where better than in the rearing of children-yes half-breed children- and teaching them at a very young age to understand the culture of both heritages and to learn tolerance instead of fear."

The duke shook his head in disagreement. "It is a commendable effort. But it will backlash on all our kind. One wrong move from these barely trained individuals and we will have in our lifetime what brought down our people during the harrowing. Especially for those living within Gwynedd. Hate and fear are very hard to overcome. If these hidden half-breeds had no training at all, then at least there is little they can do. But to give them some inkling of who they are, with just a pittance of training is like lighting on the verge of striking!"

"That lightning strike may not come just from half breeds, your grace," Washburn said with a repressive sigh. "I knew a man who did not know his heritage, but others discovered it and used him to kill with it. Sir Thomas was full Deryni. In his ignorance he grew fearful of what he felt but did not understand. Ignorance if far more dangerous than knowledge. It is our responsibility to see full and partly-blooded Deryni educated in the responsibilities that their inheritance demands. That is why Roger was squired with Lendour. Muir has been a good influence on that boy."

"Agreed," said Jathurn. "That is also why I am telling you this, your grace. Now that you are a part of Gwynedd, members of Cassan may come to you in secret. If you will in subtle ways lend them your support, I think you will gain solid alliances at Rhemuth Court."

"You offer intrigue. I dare say, Rhemuth court must be writhe with it. And you Sir Washburn, lived upfront in the midst of it and have done well."

"Aye, I have stood at the side of four Haldane King's with pride. However, court has taught me that it is a dangerous place if you take a misstep. Believe me when I say, I have learned to think through every action and its consequences, thoroughly, before I make a move. I am always mindful of my steps. I consider what is best for my blood and for my Kingdom. before I act."

"Which has made you the Commander that you are, and why I trusted you with my army at the gates of Rangath." Duke Jernian acknowledged his respect of the Lendour knight. "On the feast of Easter, I intend to present my family at court. I would very much appreciate it if Lendour were there as well. Perhaps then, you can introduce me to these _cousins_ of your new wife from Cassan?"

"It would be my honor, your grace." The Knight Captain bowed. "With Lendour, Cassan, and the strong backing of Corwyn, I have hope that the future for our people is moving forward."

The look on Duke Jernian's face was measured. He tipped his goblet up, finishing off his wine and proclaimed, "I will trust that the bond between Lendour, Tralia, and Corwyn will hold true and bring us a good future. That gentleman I will count on. We shall see what alliances can be made with Cassan."

"Then, I will look forward to Rhemuth's spring court," Sir Washburn replied. He gave a nod and drank heartily from his glass of fine Fianna wine. The duke had great taste in wine.

With the change of the tide on the first morning of the New Year, Sir Washburn had reason to be proud to be who he was. He gave a warm farewell to his bride's mother and her brother, promising to be the best husband his fair Jessamyn could desire. He stood on the quay until the galley had rowed out beyond the harbor and her sails were set to make the crossing toward Orsalia's winter palace in Var Adony. Before he returned to the road for home, the Duchess of Corwyn had a delightful present for him to give to his beloved new bride, who longingly—he hoped since he could never catch her asleep— waited for him to return.


	11. Chapter 11

**Healer's Inheritance- Chapter 11- Bewitched**

986, January 2  
Cynfyn

Hiding her face within the fur edgings of her cloak, Lady Jessamyn gave her horse the free rein to follow the squire back to Castle Cynfyn. Her thoughts were plagued by her private discussion with Bishop Michael. She was not sure what answers she had hoped he would give, but what he had said did little to calm her inner turmoil. Had she really expected anything different? Although his attitude was friendly toward the Deryni cause, he was still a man of the clergy, trained to the notion that fewer Deryni born meant fewer troubles with them in the future. Whether because of this, or because he was a man unfamiliar with the bearing and raising of children, he'd shown Jessa no outward concern for her fears that she might not be able to bring children of her own into the world.

It had not been her intention to speak to him when she had set out for Cynfyn Cathedral that Saturday morning. She had meant to seek out her mentor, Sister Vivian. More and more, Jessa felt the need for an impartial friend who could listen to her troubles and, just possibly, help her come to terms with how to deal with them. Sister Vivian, however, had gone out to attend a birth somewhere in the city and would likely not be back for hours. Feeling distressed from the thoughts that were whirling around inside her head, Jessa inadvertently walked into the colonnade just as the bishop was passing by. His presence gave her a shock and he offered an apology for frightening her. She apologized in turn for being lost in her thoughts and not mindful of where she stepped, which brought the Bishop to inquire what it was that had her so preoccupied. Unwilling to elaborate, Jessa asked what she thought was a simple theoretical question. The answer she was looking for, she hoped, would give her husband a choice when her disability became known. For the one thing in life that she never wanted to be was a burden. A childless wife must be a burden to any man; how could anyone think otherwise? Therefore, she posed her hypothetical question to Bishop Michael: If a wife proved to be infertile, would the Church grant a husband, if he requested it, an annulment from his marriage?

Bishop Michael's response surprised her. He emphatically said, "No!" After such a question, the bishop led her to his office and resorted to interrogating the newly made bride about her position and her Deryni husband's treatment of her. She was mortified by his questions. Several times, he asked if she had reason to deny the sanctity of her marriage and if she wished to return to the fold of the Church. No, absolutely not, she assured him. She loved her husband devotedly, but feared her body was unfit to give him heirs to his estate. The bishop did not understand how these fears came into being so soon in her marriage, and Jessa dared not explain. She wasn't even certain he knew she was Deryni, and certainly he knew nothing of her Healing talent, unless the Abbess of Saint Clair had told him. Otherwise, she was fairly certain that her secret was still well kept.

The Bishop's final lecture left no room for further discussion. Lord Washburn was a Cynfyn and not the last of his family's name. It mattered not in the eyes of God, nor in the secular passing of titles, if he had children or not. On his passing, his estate would stay in the Cynfyn line by reverting to his brother's children. Therefore, it was irreverent for her to fret over a future which would happen or not happen as God willed it. He suggested she seek the grace of the Holy Mother, to give Her her prayers, and then to return home to fulfill her marriage vows. With God's love and good time, she would have Sir Washburn's children. Hiding in tears, Jessa did just that, lighting a candle and giving her prayers to the Virgin Mary.

During the week that had followed Christmas, with her husband gone, escorting her mother and brother to their ship in Coroth, Jessamyn had turned her efforts to finding friends among the women of Cynfyn. She had hoped that Lady Lisa would continue to give her guidance, but the dowager baroness seemed to be frequently busy with duties elsewhere. Each afternoon, it had become customary for the ladies to gather in the warmth of the countess's solar where fingers worked upon delicate stitches of embroidery and tongues made light of whichever stories were in the air. Jessa had been accepted without question, but to her it seemed that everyone was trying a little too hard to not give her offense. She realized her own name was no longer heard in the whisperings and the story tellings, and she wondered if the countess had put a stop to such gossip. In a sense, however, it seemed to exclude her from the comradery, and she was uncertain just how to breach this new obstacle. She was afraid to speak of her concerns with the two Deryni ladies of the castle. They were both intuitive enough to figure out that she felt troubled. If Jessa spoke to them first, before she could speak to her husband, then she was afraid that his brother's wife might turn against her when she discovered her inability to perpetuate the Cynfyn name. For the talk of becoming pregnant and the bearing of children seemed to be the most common subject among the women. The men had been home about three months, and already many of their wives were openly flaunting their conditions. Outwardly, Jessa was happy for each one of them. Deep behind shields, she buried her concern that she might never be able to make the same announcement.

The Knight Captain's wife dismounted before the castle doors. She thanked the squire for his escort and let the young man take her palfrey to the stables. Resolute to put her concerns aside until Washburn could return, Jessa entered the main hall. All seemed quiet; the luncheon had not yet begun. She climbed the main stairs at the rear of the hall, intent on seeking the warmth of the countess's solar, and she hoped, to find a few friendly faces. The guard was just opening the solar door for her when a shrill laugh stopped her from stepping forward. She could not see those inside, behind the screens, but she could clearly hear their harmful words.

"As you say, this convent girl is not lively enough for him by far. She will embarrass him with her pious ways when he presents her to the crown. Mark my words! He will regret having married her. Why, oh why, did he not marry Lady Evelyn? I mean to say, for over a year the widowed countess has been encouraged to become his wife. I don't see how Lady Melina's plans went so awry."

"Shush, May! If the countess heard you, it would upset her."

"My lady won't hear these words from me, unless one of you snitches on me. She has gone to the nursery to see Euan, and Lady Evelyn has gone with her. Besides, don't you think they are discussing the same thing? I just don't understand what sway this convent girl has over the earl's brother! Why did he marry her?" May complained.

In the doorway, Jessa turned her pale face up to the guard. The guard could only return his apologetic gaze. She turned to go, but the mocking words froze her feet to the floor.

"Her brother's a baron," snarked one of the older girls. "That's nobler than you. And I'm sure Lord Washburn finds her looks quite pleasing."

"A lamb for the wolf," cackled May.

"You're just jealous," called another voice over the laughter.

"Well, if Lord Washburn wasn't going to marry Evelyn, then I'd have made him a good wife. That I would! I would do him proud at the queen's court, just the same as Camilla, may her soul rest in peace."

"Amen," whispered several voices.

In jest, a voice broke the momentary silence. "Your wardrobe would show rightly well at court. Undoubtedly, your bright raiment would stand out against the black attire of our Knight Captain. Although I doubt even Sir Washburn's income could afford all that silk and velvet. Perhaps you should set your desires higher; nothing short of marrying a prince will satisfy your tastes."

A snicker from many followed that call as May sniped back, "At least I wasn't raised wearing the rags of a sack-dress habit."

Horrified, Jessa stepped back from the door. The guard quietly closed it, and shook his head at the hurtful words. The young lady tried her best to hold her head high as she walked away. Her mother had called these women a company of busy bees, bees that would sting a newcomer rather than let her within their hive. She'd been stung; these women would never accept her. They thought Evelyn should have married Wash. Why had she never guessed? When she had finally managed to walk past the turning of the corridor her tears streamed down her face and her feet made a frantic retreat toward her own lonely room. Unwittingly, at the landing of the main stair which led both down to the second floor and up to the fourth, she collided into the dark-haired, handsome Sir Artimus who was coming up from below. Bracing her elbow with a steadying hand, the gallant knight helped her recover from the near fall.

"My Lady, my apologies. Are you well?" The sight of him caused her stomach to churn, his face was so like his sister's, though hers always seemed more sad.

"Please excuse me, Sir Artimus," she said, trying to wipe back the tears. "I seem to have made a bad habit of running into people today." Jessa curtseyed deeply, head low, unwilling to look into the pair of eyes that so looked like his sister's.

"That is quite all right as I am practicing my stealth." He was teasing her, as his spurs clicked against the stone and his chainmail 'shushed' as he moved. "May I escort you somewhere?"

"No, good sir... I… I was just going to my room." She tried to recover her wits. "Thank you, but I am fine," she finally managed at his look of concern.

He bowed to her with a light smile and took his leave, heading in the direction of the earl's office. Unwilling to follow him so closely to her room, she stood at the top of the stairs trying desperately to calm her emotions. But her mind was in turmoil. How was it that all this time, Arty could be so kind to her, knowing that it was his sister, not her, who should have married Sir Washburn? She had not seen it before, but now she saw it everywhere, in every face that had looked her way. Her love had made her blind; her happiness had made her foolish enough to think her dreams had come true.

If Wash had loved Evelyn, then why, oh why, had he not married her? She was Deryni and the widowed Countess of Eastmarch. It was said Evelyn's dowry had been depleted in the war, but her daughter still received an annuity from her uncle, the current Earl of Eastmarch. Wash did not seem to care about small dowries. Jessa's original dowry had been small, indeed. Although, before he left, Baron Jathurn had made a generous gift to correct that detail. Nevertheless, it proved it wasn't a lack of money or the want of titles that had kept Sir Washburn from marrying Arty's sister. He had not even become betrothed to her during that six week period after the battle at the Festil Pass. There had been plenty of time for them to consent to the arrangements the countess had begun. So then why was the Lendour commander uncommitted to Evelyn by the time of Euan's birth?

"She would give him children," Jessa said aloud as she stared down the empty hallway where Arty had gone. There was little doubt over that fact. In dismay that she might have been overheard, Jessa looked around and was thankful no one was within hearing range. Quickly losing herself in a maelstrom of worries, she stepped close to the wall and pressed her forehead against the cold stone. In truth, Jessa had never seen her husband look at the dark beauty of Lady Evelyn. She never felt Wash desire anything but her own love. The love between them was true.

But... what if it wasn't, what if it was a lie? What if somehow when Jessa had Healed the Lendour knight months ago, she had unwittingly spellbound him to love her? Perhaps it was false love, the worst kind of love, a bending of his desires and free will to deny him the choice to make for himself.

Dear Lord, were Deryni capable of such evil? The abbess had lectured her often enough that it was so. A touch, any touch, from a Deryni could be a touch of corruption. It was seldom that the abbess allowed Jessa to touch anyone. Was she right; had she managed this evil deed? Was Washburn only hers because she had ensnared him and corrupted his soul? Sudden fear consumed her mind. The steepness of the staircase called her down. The one for sure cure to a curse was the death of the one who had brought the evil spell to life. With a simple fall, Wash would be free of the compulsion she was now certain she had cast upon him. He would be free to return to the plans of marrying Lady Evelyn and together they would have many children. She stepped toward the brink of the cold void. The solution to her problems would easily be resolved by her body tumbling to the bottom of the stairs. Her head swam dizzily, leaning forward a little, and...

She grabbed the wall at her side. The suicidal thought, although fleeting, terrified her soul to its core. With fingers gouging into the mortar between the stones, she held tight until the dizziness subsided.

Then she cried, unsure if her tears were for her own weakness to really do it or from the fear that she could even think such a heinous act was in the right. Her conscience felt guilty either way. If she really had ensorcelled Sir Washburn, then that was something that she needed to cure. It was time to find someone to confide in, someone who could learn the truth and resolve it. Lady Lisa was human and had grown distant, and Jessa certainly could not speak with Lady Evelyn; she felt she had betrayed the countess with her marriage. She prayed Countess Melina would accept being her confidante. In this, Jessa knew she had no choice. Melina was a trained Deryni. She would know how to discover if Jessa had bewitched Sir Washburn with a love spell, and how to break that spell if it were so. If their vows had been made under duress, then the Church would grant Washburn an annulment. He would be free to marry Evelyn. Knowing her own love would be forfeit, but determined that this was the answer, Jessa straightened her back and pushed away from the wall. She turned toward the stairs leading to the fourth floor to find Melina in the nursery. She had gone up half of the flight of steps when a noise from above made her look up to see Lady Lisa coming down.

Lady Lisa was carrying a young girl in her arms and was escorting two mischievous boys who danced around her skirts. Sigheria giggled at the boys, encouraging them to dodge back and forth, slapping each other.

"You're it!" one boy yelled.

"No, you're it!" the other boy yelled back, punching his friend.

Lisa tried to scold them as they played around her feet, but with her arms full, her voice was not enough to make them stop. The sight of the children lightened Jessa's mood. A faint smile parted her lips as she moved quickly up the steps to help the dowager handle the boys.

No one anticipated both boys leaping behind the older lady's skirts, tagging each other with a shrill laugh, and then falling into Lisa's knees. In mid-step, Lisa gave them a scolding, but suddenly, she shrieked as she lost her balance and slipped. The little girl cried out as arms loosened their hold, and the child was tossed in the air to fall down the stairs. Jessa leaped upward, horrified. Her hand snatched the girl out of the air, and then desperately, Jessa pulled her tight to her chest. Even as she twisted to keep the child from the floor, she too slipped on her skirts and fell forward onto the sharp edges of the steps. Above her, the two boys cried out as Lisa continued her fall. All three of them slipped down the steps on top of Jessa and the precious Sigheria. In a bundle of bodies and skirts, five people hit the third floor landing, where they came to a halt. Both ladies were too stunned to move. It was the boys who squirmed and cried. They were the first to be pulled out of the mass by the guards who were quick to react to the screams.

Under fabric, just able to catch her breath, Jessa's first concern was for Evelyn's little girl who lay upon her chest. Already a bruise was forming on the girl's arm where Jessa had snatched her from the air. Sweet Mother, had she done the child harm? Jessa pressed her right hand to the child's head and felt for any indication of other injuries. Although the girl had rudimentary shields, they did not stop the Healer from making her examination. No other injury had been incurred. Thankfully, Jessa touched the bruise, closed her eyes, and Healed the arm where her grasp had done harm.

When Jessa opened her eyes, the child's mother was leaning over them both. Evelyn's dark eyes had a frantic look about them as she pulled her daughter from Jessa's grasp. As any mother would, Evelyn quickly assessed her little girl. Her palm covered the girl's forehead as a Deryni parent might when she needed to know just what had happened. After a long moment, Evelyn's eyes grew wider, she turned to the countess to confirm what she had just learned. What passed between them, Jessa could not say.

The young lady felt dazed and newly aware that she was pinned down. Lisa's full weight was upon her and covered her off side. The dowager's breathing was coming out in harsh gasps, her body unmoving. Afraid to push out from under her, Jessa's could only reach over with her right arm to assist Lisa if she could. Only Lisa whimpered at the touch, alerting the Healer to her pain.

"Where do you hurt? Lisa, tell me where."

"My back! Oh, my back," Lisa whispered with a hiss.

Jessa's left arm was numb, unfeeling and pinched under Lisa's weight. With a slight shift, Jessa slipped her good hand under the other's back. Through the fabric of Lisa's gown, the Healer sensed a contusion in the older woman's lower spine. She twisted to make her palm flatten over the area. She wished she could see her Camber medallion, but the best she could manage was to feel the cool silver against her breast. Calming all thoughts, focusing on Lisa's need, Jessa summoned up the image on the face of the coin from her memory. The image of the long ago saint soothed her mind and allowed the Healer to find that place in her soul where she could help another who suffered from pain. Eyes unfocused, she slipped into Healer's trance. Warmth surged through her hand; the lady caught her breath and then calmed. Lightly aware of a pair of mystical hands covering her hand, Jessa felt the shattered vertebrae knit together and Heal. And then the warmth was gone and the energy drained away from her hand and out of her mind. The working done through the layers of fabric cost the Healer dearly. Losing consciousness, Jessa slipped into blackness.

The young lady was jolted back to awareness from a pain in her arm. Guards were helping Lisa to stand, and another one was trying to help by pulling Jessa away from them, to the side. All too quickly, that armsman raised Jessa to a sitting position. Instantly, the motion caused her to shudder and her world to turn black again. She'd slipped back to the floor when a man came up behind her and scolded the guard for his mistreatment. This new man's strong arm was quick to brace her shoulders, and send a familiar sense of energy through his touch.

With it, Jessa managed to open her eyes to see several faces starring down at her. Some like Lady May had a quizzical smirk, but most others seemed genuinely concerned. Carefully, Sir Artimus moved his hand down her shoulder and pulled her arm forward to rest it on her lap. The crowd gasped, even Lady May, as Jessa's left sleeve was pushed back to expose her forearm and hand which were turned unnaturally at the wrist in a direction that was wrong. Jessa blinked at the sight then squeezed her eyes shut afraid that what she saw was real. Even as she tried to deny it, the throbbing of the broken bones told her it was so. A strong pair of arms lifted her from the floor, spoke to her in reassuring words, and carried her away from those who looked on with curiosity.

Over the clamor of the gathering people of Lendour, the countess took charge, ordering the guards to hold everyone back and to move the injured to her solar. She had Carl help Lisa, who seemed wary to walk on her own. The two mothers of the boys had pushed through the crowd and were now pulling their sons aside. The boys were found to be unharmed, so quick enough, their mothers took them away from the happenings. Evelyn held her daughter tight as she followed her brother, and Carl supported Lisa moving her safely to the solar. Melina came last, purposely closing the door to her rooms after she entered, leaving everyone else in the hall to speculate at what had happened.

"Arty, would you please place Jessa on the chair near the fire," Melina requested. "Help Lisa sit there, if you would, Carl." Jessa blinked as Lisa was helped to sit beside her. The Healer tried to summon energy to reach out to Lisa, but a flash of pain stopped her from moving. Arty's hand covered her eyes, his energy eased the pain back to a tolerable throb. "Thank you, Carl, you may go," Melina was saying to the guard to get him away before he could realize what the lieutenant was doing. "Find Muir and tell him what has happened, if you would for me, please," the countess requested as she waved him out the door.

The dowager baroness looked on with wide eyes that kept flitting to the Healer, to Arty, and then back to the floor. She felt only a small soreness across her back, nothing like that momentary crippling pain she had felt only minutes before. Fear for what might have been made her cry. Melina came to her and held her for a moment, soothing the shudders of delayed reaction. "I'm so sorry," Lisa finally managed to say. "Lady Evelyn, please, is Sigheria well? I lost my footing, I do not know how. It is not the fault of the boys. I should have stopped them… I am so sorry... If Lady Jessamyn had not caught Sigheria... Oh dear! She could have hit her head… and my back! For a moment I thought it was broken… but Jessa..., sweet lady… Is she unwell? She looks as white as a ghost!"

From her chair, Jessa attempted to protest. "Lady… don't fret... I just…" Unable to form the words, she leaned back dizzily. Arty eased her head to lean against his arm. His touch helped her refocus her eyes. When she opened them, she noticed everyone was watching her.

"Sigheria is safe?" Jessa managed to ask, voicing her first concern.

Sigheria's mother had tears on her cheeks as she hugged her daughter close to her chest and said, "Yes, she is, with my sincere thanks to you."

'Maman, maman, I fall down. Don't cry." Sigheria pressed her hands to her mother's cheeks, pushing aside her mother's tears.

"Yes, you fell down. You scared your maman when you fell. But you're safe now, my love," Evelyn reassured her daughter. After a moment, she turned toward Jessa, her hand pausing over the twisted wrist laying in Jessa's lap. "You caught her and Healed her. She showed me. Thank you. Let us help you with your pain so we can straighten that before you Heal it."

Jessa nodded, hiding her fear.

Almost instantly Arty came before Jessa, studying the broken arm and how best to straighten it. But Evelyn was quick to brush her brother aside. "Oh no, you don't. I have seen how you men straighten bones in the field. You have the touch of an ox, and the bones would never mend straight. This lady needs to use that arm again, and that requires the delicate touch of a woman." So saying, to Artimus's surprise Evelyn placed Sigheria in his arms and pointed to the far window. "Take your niece and shield her from this, if you would for me, please." Resigned, Arty covered Sigheria's head with his hand and she fell asleep in his arms.

Melina moved to stand at the young lady's side and placed her hands at her temples. "I can not put you to sleep, because we need you to help us in this. But if you lower your shields and let me try, I will help distance you from what is to come." Showing her trust, the injured young woman lowered her shields, letting both Deryni women enter into rapport. As a kindness, Jessa nodded to Lady Lisa and Melina invited the dowager baroness to join them. Shyly at first, Lisa placed her hands over Melina's hands. The ease of rapport between the four women was surprisingly smooth. Jessa shared the event as she saw it, and Lisa was able to add what had happened from her point of view.

The accident, seen from both women's perspectives, proved that no one was at fault and that the nearly devastating injury to the older lady was corrected almost immediately after it had happened. In the accounting, the countess didn't fail to catch the Healer's despondency just before the accident occurred. Melina took their rapport deeper, shielding what she found from Lisa, and witnessed Jessa's nearly suicidal act. Evelyn had stayed in the link; both countesses were stunned by what they learned. The young bride was about to give up everything she loved. Melina gently pushed to understand why. The reasons came tumbling through their rapport- this young Deryni, barely trained in the art, believed she had unwittingly cast an enchantment that ensnared her husband to love her.

Neither noble lady had an immediate response to Jessa's reasoning. In distress, Jessa cried aloud, "Can you make it right, Please!" Lisa and Arty may have thought she was talking about her arm, and both leaned in to help. The two ladies in rapport knew better, but they had to put that knowledge aside to first ease Jessa's physical injury before they could help her with this other matter. Evelyn slid a chair close to the injured arm, her fingers sliding down the blackening skin to meet the break in the bone. Melina stood at Jessa's back, her thumbs on the Healer's temples and her fingers along her neck. As if in a dream, as if it weren't her arm at all, Jessa showed them how to straighten it and pull the bones into alignment. Evelyn grimaced as her gentle moves did as the healer bid her to. The Healer in turn did not call out; they had successfully taken away her pain. Then together, all four ladies experienced what it was to Heal.

In awe, when all was done, Evelyn took a deep breath and hugged Jessa warmly, and then helped her to find a more comfortable way to sit. "That is what Healing feels like? I had wondered. I think I would like very much to help Lord Ellison do his work."

"You know about my brother?" Jessa said, catching her breath and wiggling her fingers to feel them once more. The deep purple of her skin was fading even as she moved, although it would be days before the bruise would be completely gone.

Evelyn smiled up at Arty and took back her reawakened daughter. "Baron Jathurn has asked my brother for permission for your other brother to write to me. Arty has given his consent. Do you mind?"

"I'm sorry," Jessa did not understand the reference; the countess realized the Healer was still intent on her own worries. "Lady Evelyn, I have wronged you. I stole your future husband from you. I believe I bewitched him... I didn't mean to do such an evil thing... I don't know how to make it right."

All three Deryni looked at her with concern. "How could you possibly imagine you bewitched Wash with a love spell?" Melina asked. "Love spells, though they exist, do not work as the stories say they do." Melina sat in the chair Evelyn had just vacated and took Jessa's healed hand into her own. "That kind of spell binds a person's will to the caster, and makes it impossible for the victim to do other than parrot the spellcaster's desires. Strong shielding of the mind prevents most but the strongest attempts."

"But Wash was dying, his shields were down," Jessa cried at Melina's protest.

"So Muir has told me. In that moment, wasn't Muir part of the rapport? Don't you think he would have known if you had done as you say? No Jessa, there was no bewitching in your Healing of Wash. What there was, was a meeting of two souls. Two souls that recognized each other as who they truly are and fell in love with what they saw. That sort of bewitching is as old as Adam and Eve. Without it, men and women would have long since perished from loneliness."

"But if he was to marry _you_ …?" Jessa broke off, turning a desperate gaze to the widowed countess.

Evelyn may have only been five years older than the Healer, but her maturity shown in her eyes. "You needn't ever worry that Sir Washburn and I would have married. That was never meant to be." Evelyn's features softened as she explained. "No, there was never love between us. Admiration, yes. Please understand, there might have been a time when his image filled my dreams, but that was when I was a girl, before he married Camilla and I married Sighere. Then, for a while, I thought we'd both been widowed for a reason, that we were meant to be together, but the love wasn't there. I feared for him; he's a warrior like my husband, bless his soul. Always charging into danger when a lesser man would run. I have lived with the fear that one day my husband would not return. And then... one day... he did not…." Silence prevailed in the room. Tears filled Evelyn's eyes and she kissed the forehead of the little girl named after her lost father. "I can't live that way again."

There was a long silence as each woman said her private prayers. Before too much silence set in, Evelyn smiled at the recent bride. "Love is precious, it takes work to keep it alive, but it makes every hard moment in your life worth living. Besides, your marriage has brought to light a suitable match for me that just might give me back that same feeling of love that you have found. I would be honored if you would help me win the heart of your brother, Lord Ellison. Jathurn has said he is in need of a Deryni bride." A smile lit her face. "I believe I could help him in his profession, if he will have me. I would be honored to stand beside a Healer and be his wife. You wouldn't mind us being sisters, as you and Melina are?"

"Truly?" Jessa said, amazed. "I haven't even seen my youngest brother in twelve years. My mother has given me glimpses of him…"

"Jathurn gave me some glimpses too. Perhaps we can share what we know, and when the time comes, I would love it if you stood beside me when we first meet."

"I would be honored to do that," replied Jessa. Melina watched the stress wash away from the young woman's features. Jessa's smile returned as she looked across at Lady Lisa. "Please forgive me for my deceiving you these last few months. I wanted to tell you what I am, I just didn't know quite how."

"That you are Deryni and a Healer- please do not apologize for that. I admit I was upset from the deception, but now I see that this was necessary. Besides your talents are the very best reason for Sir Washburn to have brought you into our home. I thank you for saving me from..." Lady Lisa couldn't voice the concern that she could have been crippled for life. She kissed Jessa's forehead, and then she stood and hugged Evelyn, happy to hear her friend was looking forward once more. "Dear ladies, what we need is a portrait; one that shows Evelyn's charisma and her beauty. One of your daughter too. Then my lady, you could have your likeness sent to Lord Ellison, straight away. If the man has any wits about him, he will either be here by spring or you will have a proposal to travel to Tralia. Although, I will miss you dearly if you move so far away."

"If it brings happiness, no distance is too far to go," said the Countess Melina.

"Do you think it will be so?" A wistful smile returned to Evelyn's face. "Then, Jessa, I would like to ask if you would teach me midwifery. I think that knowledge would help me the most as a healer's wife."

"Noblewomen aren't supposed to have the stomach for such events," Jessa teased.

"I nearly gave birth on the back of a horse," replied Evelyn. "Contrary to what our mothers told us, knowledge is the key, not ignorance. Wouldn't you agree, my lady?"

"Indeed," replied the countess, "we could all use more knowledge in that area of our lives."

Jessa gave a shy smile. "I think I would very much like to teach you, and I would be happy to call you my sister." She did not voice her deeper concern about her own deficiency to have children. That information had stayed hidden behind strong shields and had not been seen in their earlier rapport, for which Jessa was glad. Her desire was to share that knowledge first with her husband, to see just what he thought they should do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12- Home**

986, January 5  
Twelfth Night  
Cynfyn Castle,  
Earldom of Lendour

The red-slate towers of Lendour's greatest castle, were a welcome sight after eleven days of travel. Even the Knight Captain had to admit to earning the saddle sore on his behind while trying to race home for Twelfth Night. The roofs of Cynfyn were blanketed in snow, all but for those two conical towers, which would not hold ice until the deep freeze of winter had set in. Any gleaming sunlight no matter how pale held enough warmth to keep the snow from sticking to the steep rooflines. The pair of towers shone in the morning sunlight like beacons calling lost travelers home. Sir Washburn was glad to find that home.

He and his small band of men first stopped at the granary within the city to confirm that the grain had arrived safely two days before. All was well. The grain master assured Wash that his shipment combined with their own provisions were enough to see the city through the winter, even a long winter, if the predictions held true. Wash was pleased. With a hearty thanks, he ordered his men to disperse, to find their families and their homes. This day was the last of the holiday feasts, and they had made good time and arrived before the earl's afternoon court. The road up the steep grade to the castle gates, Washburn took at a canter. Of the few men that followed him, none but his squire could keep the same pace. As he reached the opened gates, he called forth a cheer, happy to hear his voice echoed against the stone of the main portico. He loved that echo, it meant he was home.

No sooner was he off his destrier than he was racing up the steps into the great hall. "Where is my Lady Jessamyn?" he asked the first person he met. Before he received an answer, a bold voice called out to him from the opposite end of the hall.

"It is good to have you back, my lord," came a greeting from Lord Ohlin. The old steward stepped closer, pointing up the stairs. "Your lady is in the countess's solar. There are a few hours yet before the commencement of court. I am certain the earl will be glad you arrived in good time to attend. Shall I see that a bath is readied for you in your chamber?" Wash looked from Lord Ohlin to the changes across the great hall. As the castle's steward, Ohlin was overseeing the preparations for the afternoon's Twelfth Night Court. Fresh banners of all the estates of Lendour were newly arranged along the walls, reflecting the changes after Rengarth.

"Thank you, Lord Ohlin," Wash said with an agreeable nod. He glanced up at the great white standard with its red rearing stag and heavy checkered red and white border, which had been unfurled to hang behind the earl's and countess's chairs on the dais. On the left wall at the head of the hall was the standard of green with golden sprigs of wheat symbolizing the estate of Baron Donneral. Wash took note that the orange pennant of Drellingham had lost a position and was two down the wall from Donneral.

He raised a brow in question and got an odd answer from Ohlin, "Lady May has been sent home to her father; she has disgraced the house of Drellingham, my lord." Wash turned a quizzical eye to the steward and perceived that the demotion had been justified, but got no further explanation.

His own heraldry hung proudly along the right wall in the premier position, before Arty's sapphire blue standard of the house of Cavalien. His red on black standard stood in contrast to the earl's pure red on white. None the less, the rearing stag embroidered in deep red was as proud on the black ground as his brother's was on the white. In a loud voice Wash proudly proclaimed for all to hear, "It is good to have a place I can truly call home. I would not trade Cynfyn or its people for any other place in all the land." With a flourish he gave his brother's heraldry a deep bow. Out of respect, the men and women working in the hall followed in kind.

Then, Wash stepped closer to Lord Ohlin and privately requested, "Please, have it be a very hot bath, good sir. My bones are weary after so much travel. Will it be a long court? Do you know how many knights the earl will be confirming this day?"

"Only one is to receive the accolade, my lord, as most who were eligible were knighted last fall on the field. But we have three youths to become squires. One of them is the second son of Lord Donneral. I also suspect that Lord Muir will ask Robby to become his personal squire, since his prior squire, hmm, the young McLain, has been taken on by the King. And then Lord Muir will ask you to take on the second son."

Taken aback, the knight captain withheld his protest. "Robby most certainly deserves the promotion; he has been the best squire I have had in years," Wash declared, wondering how he was going to manage without this young man who was even now seeing to his steed and then, after both had cleaned themselves of the ice and mud from their long road travel, Wash trusted that Robby would personally ensure that the second son of Erwin Cynfyn would not arrive at the afternoon's festive court looking like a rogue warrior.

"Lord Donneral's _second_ son seems as responsible as his first born, my lord," Ohlin said with a hint of a jibe. "He should serve you well. Although, I understand the third Donneral boy, the mischievous one, is to become a page. Robert is hoping that you will personally take him on as well and be a good influence to that boy."

Wash rolled his eyes, "In the name of the heavens, what did I do to deserve that?"

The old steward grinned back. "You seem to have a knack for handling even the most pernicious ne'er-do-wells..."

"Are you telling me that it takes one to know one?" Wash broke in, feigning offense.

"It's not I who would ever say such a thing, my lord," replied the old Cynfyn steward with a low bow, yet his face lit with a jesting smile.

Wash clapped the man on the back, laughing in turn. It was good that the two of them had finally come to understand one another. "I will welcome that bath, Lord Ohlin. If I am to lose my best squire and take on another, I cannot look like the rogue that you take me for. Besides, I must look respectable since I am blessed to have an angel standing by my side."

"She has been a good influence on you, my lord." Ohlin smiled in agreement.

"On that we can both agree." Washburn smiled as he turned toward the stairs, his long stride taking the steps two at a time. He was anxious to find a certain young lady who liked his roguish style, but whom he had been parted from for too long.

When he arrived at the main solar, his eyes were only for her. She sat in the sunlight between the Countesses Melina and Evelyn and before a gathering of the castle's women. Her hand held up a small book from which she read. Her sweet voice halted as he entered the room. Nothing could have pleased him more than to see the ladies of the castle intent upon the verses his wife shared with them. As he stepped closer, however, he was quick to note that her left arm rested in her lap and it was wrapped in white linen. His gaze turned upward in concern, to which her nod said more than her words. "It is on the mend, my lord. Please thank the fine ladies at my side for making it so." _It is Healed,_ she Mind-Spoke.

He took in a breath, knowing that story had to wait. Turning to the women in the room, he made a reverent bow. "Countess Melina, Countess Evelyn and dear ladies of Lendour, I give you my humblest greeting and I thank you for caring for my wife while I was away. Would you ever be so kind as to allow me to borrow this sweet lady, for I have missed her so?"

Melina smiled at his brashness. "Perhaps you did bewitch him after all," she said in an aside, adding to the deepening color that crossed Jessa's cheeks. "Come ladies, let us give the newlyweds time to become reacquainted. I think they have been apart for nearly half the time that they have been married." Many smiled as they all took their leave. Only the grey-eyed blond stayed in the window seat, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight. She had set the book aside, trying to stay demure until the room had emptied. Then with a leap of joy, she was in his arms, her lips brushing his. _I missed you so, my Cervus Delcis, my Sweet Hart!_ Her mind opened to his in passionate need.

 _Did you, now?_ he teased as he held her close. _Seems you have found your place while I was gone._ With joy in his heart he held her tight. He then set her feet back on the ground and fingered her soft cheeks. "If you never sleep, dear lady, it is hard for me to make contact to tell you how much I love you. You should be sleeping at night, so that I can know what it is that is happening at home," he admonished her, brushing one hand over the faint circles under her eyes and touching his other hand to her bandaged arm.

When she took a guilty breath to try to explain, he held a finger before her lips. "I have a gift for you," he said, reaching for the soft leather bag slung under his arm.

Grasping his arm with her good hand, Jessa grew serious. "Wait!" Her gaze searched the depths of his blue eyes, looking for her courage. "There is something I must tell you before we can go on. It is very important!" She took a deep breath; his shields touched hers, but this time she would not let him in. Instead she said, "I need you to consider what I say, and then tell me plainly, even if it is painful, the truth of what it means for our future." Her grasp on his hand was tight as she pulled him to sit beside her. He saw the deep pain behind her eyes, the same he had sensed two weeks before. "It has to do with the inheritance of Healers."

"Tell me," he pleaded, needing to know what could possibly be so wrong.

"I discovered a horrible truth on Christmas Eve. I should have told you then, but I could not… would not believe. I'm so sorry… I have prayed that it is not true… but you must know about it or else our love would be based on a lie. I promise, I will never lie to you." Jessa stopped. She held her breath, searching in his eyes for her courage.

When she had held her breath for a long moment, afraid to speak more, he interjected his own feelings. "Love comes from trust, dearest Angel. Trust comes from truth. When two Deryni choose to fully share their lives, as we have, there can be no lies. That is what makes our love strong. Don't ever fear telling me the truth. Jessa, my Jessa, I love you; whatever you have to say won't change that."

She nodded but then looked down at the linen around her hand. "Love, however, is also knowing when that love is not enough. If you need something that I cannot give you, then I love you enough to step aside." Before he could question her, she opened her shields fully, breaking the shield her mother had hidden away. The past two weeks were laid out for him to see. In a rush came the realization that most Healing women were unable to conceive a child. Jessa paused only a moment to continue on with her mother's notion that there were exceptions to this fact. One exception just might run in the Thuryn bloodline. It was a thin hope, but the only hope Jessa could hold on to.

The news was so unexpected, it shocked the knight captain into silence. He could say nothing as she confessed her shame. Before him, she swallowed hard. Not understanding his intense stare, she declared the only choice that she felt that they had. She could return to the convent, allowing him the chance to find a real woman, one who could provide him with heirs. Her body was visibly shaking when she shared her conversation with the Bishop. How regardless of what he'd said, if Wash asked it of her, she would insist that the Bishop grant him an annulment of their marriage. To free him fully, she would retreat back into the fold of the Church.

Washburn was stunned. He instantly balked at the notion, and the thought of her returning to the Church where she did not want to be filled him with revulsion. "I would never ask for such a thing! Never!"

"I cannot give you what you need…" Jessa tried to explain.

"Need?" Tension straightened his back as he stared disbelievingly into his wife's eyes. "You gave me life; there is no greater need than that!"

"That is the past, it is the future that we must now consider. What of your Cynfyn legacy? It is important that you have a son!"

The Knight Captain abruptly stood and paced the room to digest all that he had just been told. After two turns on the carpet, he stopped abruptly and looked straight at his beloved. "I'll admit to having the desire to have sons and grandsons. But a man would be a fool to make that his greatest need. Unless I were in Byzantyun with a harem of wives, having sons has never been one of life's guarantees. You ask me what I need, I will tell you truthfully. I need a wife I trust to run my household when the king calls me away. I need your arms to welcome me home, and I need your love to withstand the passing of time so that we can gracefully grow old together and share every bitterness and every happiness that is thrown in our path. Very few people get that much out of life. I foresee that you and I can make it happen." With conviction he knelt down before her. "You are my angel here on this earth. I am not so greedy as to insist upon more than what Heaven has granted me."

"Are you sure? We could move to Byzantyun where you could have that harem…"

Suddenly he laughed. "Would you be so willing to share me with others?"

"No! Never!" She stood tall over him, her hand reaching to his cheek but hovering there without touching. "Right here, right now, I am telling you that you can honestly break with me and there will be no repercussions." She held her breath, gathering the last thread of her courage. "But from this moment forward, as you just said, truth, trust, and love are what make two people one. Perhaps I am a silly girl with still much to learn about the world, but I would have no other than you to make me whole. And I do pray that you will have no other than me, for as long as we both shall live."

"The bond that makes us one is not one that can be easily broken," he declared in an earnest reply. He pulled her to her knees to kneel with him, his fingers brushing the dampness at the corner of her eyes. "I will have no other than you!" he declared before kissing her.

 _Dear Lord, you had me worried that something life-threatening had occurred, I apologize if your news took me by surprise._ He pressed his face into her shoulder. _Sweet Angel, how I missed you! Please, no matter what comes of our future, promise me you will always be here for my soul to come home to.  
_  
With the release of her tension, she softened into his embrace. Coveting every part of her, his held her close. She would have succumbed to his desire if something hadn't wiggled and whimpered in the leather satchel slung under his arm. "What is this?" she cried between curiosity and surprise.

"Oh! I nearly forgot! I have a gift for you. More than ever, I think, you will like this." He reached to the leather satchel that oddly shifted on its own. The knight's hand, big and strong, carefully lifted the flap of the satchel aside. Out popped a black nose, white cheeks, round brown eyes, tan eyebrows with a white stripe between them, and long fluffy, black ears. The puppy practically leaped from the confines of the bag into the waiting arms of the woman who stared in amazement. "She is a Comfort Spaniel from Corwyn. The duchess said they are becoming popular with the noble ladies of Bremagne. My hope is that she will keep you company on the nights when I am away. You need your sleep, dear love. How else can I contact you if you will not sleep?"

Jessa suddenly laughed as she held the puppy to her face and a little tongue licked her cheek, giving her puppy kisses. "You will promise me that you will always return to me?"

"My angel, I will promise that as long as there is air in my lungs and a beat in my chest, I will always return to your arms."

"Then I promise I will always await your return. She is so cute!" Jessa called out, the look of joy returning to her face. "My little Cara Mia, I think that is what I will call her. You, Cara Mia, will give me courage to sleep when duty calls our protective Knight Captain away from our side." Holding the puppy with the happy wagging tail, Jessa leaned into Wash and then whispered, "You, my lord, could use a bath." He laughed and grabbed her up in a full kiss. A kiss that stirred their hearts. A kiss that bewitched them both with the spell of Love.

 _The End_


End file.
